


Securing the Throne

by RenouncedLove



Category: Asoiaf - Fandom, game of thrones
Genre: ASoIaF, Adventure, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Captive, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, GRRM, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incest, Love, Medieval, Multi, Other, Rape, Romance, Torture, kidnap, tradgedy, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 64,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenouncedLove/pseuds/RenouncedLove
Summary: An alternate universe where Rhaegar Targaryen wins the rebellion and ascends the Iron Throne with his new wife Lyanna Stark and their only child, Aegon Targaryen (Jon Snow).Westeros has fallen into an era of tense compliance, as King Rhaegar Targaryen works to repair relations across the country. But something is brewing under the King’s reign. The King and Queen host a celebration for the Crown Prince, Aegon Targaryen VIII as he reaches is twenty-second name day. All Houses are invited to the Capital, including House Neve, the Kingdom beyond the wall. Whispers travel like wildfire as the King hosts strange, ancestral loyalist from the time of Aegon the Conqueror. They are a family who’s hair is like a halo of snow with eyes that glow eerily blue.Whispers of war are on the horizon and the King and Queen seek an alliance through marriage. Loyalties are tested and families are broken as the Targaryen Royals sacrifice it all to secure the Iron Throne.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A plot theory that won’t leave me alone! I wanted to create a GoT story that challenged the written destiny of some characters. What if he lived? What if she actually died? Trigger warnings for rape/incest and explicit sexual content. Not sure where this will go, but let me know what you think! I use to write on FanFiction but I feel as of late, it’s not really giving me the freedom I want to explore contraversial topics. Let’s see how this pans out! Advice and commentary always welcome.
> 
> [Edited 11/30/18]

Amorous cheer surged through out the damp and filthy streets of Kingslanding. Filthy, muck-ridden arms flew from malnourished chests as a sea of red and black banners boasting three headed dragons swallowed the small, cobblestone alleys.

The Targaryen Royal Guard trotted proudly toward the castle, as common folk hailed their long awaited return.

Chainmail clanked and rattled as the march of soldiers deafened the cheers of common folk who cried onward to their great soldiers.

Ahead of the Guard, rode a young swordsman basked in glistening red and black armor, with rubies encrusting his chest plate that bore the insignia of his great house. With his helmet held high, the young man swayed lazily to the rhythm of his steed, his eyes flickering every so often to the folk who cheered and celebrated his return, while elder men and women quietly reminisced how the young man resembled so much his father, The King, in his days of glory.

Aegon Targaryen the Crown Prince was home.

Aegon withdrew his helm abruptly, the air becoming too stifling within the steel cage. Wet curls as black as ink dropped around the young Prince’s face, shielding his eyes from the leering crowd that chanted to him. His mind was adrift, barely noticing the slew of chants that vibrated his name. He was beyond the moment he strode in...his mind, somewhere among a wasteland of ice and snow.

He lowered his grey, brooding glare and gripped the reins of his horse roughly between leathered fists. No matter how old he got or how many times he’d address the commoners alongside his parents, their cheer and worship of him and his family would never settle or sit pleasant with the young dragon. The sound of the common folk’s chant echoed ominously behind his ear, eliciting anxiety within the young dragon. He shook his head at the overstimulating intrusion they bid.

Aegon was consumed within his mind. So much so, he’d barely noticed his closest friend, brother, trotting to his side. “Aye, good to be home, brother? I’d rather the smell of shit over the northern chill and what lies within it beyond that wall—oi, what’s the matter with you?” The boy spoke quietly, eyeing Aegon sharply beneath a cold, blue glare. His jests were usually never not entertained, even from his brooding brother. “Not happy to be back, Aegon?”

“I am more than happy to be home. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed my father, my mother—I’ve just a lot on my mind, brother. Forgive me” Aegon replied, turning curtly to his dear friend Gendry Baratheon. Gendry was his father, King Rhaegar Targaryen’s ward. The young prince and his friend had been raised as brother’s from the time they were babes, barely suckled by the lopsided breast of a wet nurse.

The young stag had been raised by dragons since the time his father, Robert Baratheon lost his rebellion against the Crown. Gendry was only a bastard, barely acknowledged or claimed by his chaotic father...but when Robert lost his war and Rhaegar succeeded the throne after his father’s death, he legitimized the bastard boy to spite the enraged stag. Gendry had become heir to Storm’s End, Robert’s only legitimized son among the possible many bastards he likely bore during his young, turbulent years of whoring and war. And as punishment for rebelling against the Crown, Rhaegar took him like he had taken the old stag’s first love.

Aegon remembered the stories well from when he was told them as a young boy by wenches and handmaidens. Robert’s Rebellion...the words would elicit a strange chill up the young dragon’s spine as he recounted the timeless story over and over that was whispered from withered lips.

Rhaegar, the boy’s father had been sworn and married to a woman named Elia Martell and bore two children; Aegon’s late half brother and sister. The marriage was arranged to keep good faith and loyalty with Dorne. An alliance that had stood since the time Daeron the Good had successfully joined Dorne and the Targaryens through marriage of his sister and Maron Martell.

While the marriage was an alliance built on fostering good relations with the vast, southern territory, Rhaegar was unhappy and gravely dissatisfied with the arrangement and did not wish to be a traditional prop in the peace with Dorne. He met the young Prince’s mother and now Queen, Lyanna Stark, during The Great Tourney of Harrenhal.

Upon becoming victorious, he presented his winning roses to Lyanna Stark—not his wife, Elia Martell. After only a few short years and two children later with the Dornish woman, he had his marriage annulled and ran away with the young Stark girl whom he’d fallen madly in love with at the fateful tournament. They married in secret, and Rhaegar solidified his love and pledged his loyalty to the northern Princess.

The betrayal and deceit by Rhaegar Targaryen sparked a rage among the seven Kingdoms as word spread near and far across Westeros, that the Crown Prince had committed treason and kidnapped the young northern beauty. At the time of their flee, Lyanna Stark was sworn to Robert Baratheon, heir to Storm’s End. Robert raised his banners, enraged and determined to find and regain his presumed stolen love. A great war ensued, as noblemen and Lord’s died for the King and his Queen’s forbidden love.

The late Mad King, Aerys Targaryen burned alive Queen Lyanna’s father Rickard Stark and his heir, Brandon Stark when they demanded justice for the young woman’s taking. This transcended House Stark in raising their banners alongside Robert Baratheon for the Mad King and his son’s treachery.

Jaime Lannister, a young boy himself and Knight of the Kingsguard slayed the Mad King when he demanded the boy’s father’s head and called for the burning of all his people during the sack of Kingslanding. When it was presumed that the then young dragon prince would lose the war, the Lannister’s endorsed Robert’s cause alongside the other house rebels and sacked the capital, under the false pretense of support for the King. Once the Capital’s gates opened, the Lannister army led by Tywin Lannister sieged the city; a city the old Lord was sworn to protect as its Hand. Lannister soldiers slayed the Prince’s previous wife Elia Martell and their infant children, permanently eradicating any Targaryen succession to the Iron Throne.

But Lord Tywin had made a grave error and misjudgment in weathering which way Robert’s war would go. When Robert confidently announced he would be victorious in his rebellion and garnered support and endorsement from his fellow rebelling houses, House Lannister quickly leapt into action, eager to appear the most beneficial and supporting house during the young stag’s rebellion. It was Tywin’s ploy that if Robert seen the benefit of having House Lannister endorse his claim to the throne and assisted in overthrowing of the Crown, he would be rewarded splendidly.

But the old lion was ill advised and misjudged Robert’s capability considerably. When Robert lost the battle of the Trident and surrendered, the remaining Royalist stormed Kingslanding and slaughtered the Lannister men who were holding the city in Robert’s wake. Lord Tywin Lannister and his King slaying son were taken prisoner to await their fate and ultimate demise by the new King, Rhaegar Targaryen.

And so the war was not lost for the Royalist. The Great Battle of the Trident faced the two young men who fought valiantly for the Stark woman’s love. Rhaegar and the Royalists came out victorious against the Rebels, ending Robert’s Rebellion once and for all. Young Robert Baratheon surrendered once he realized his war was lost and he had little army to face Rhaegar and his own militants.

In a leap of good faith, the young Prince revealed to Eddard Stark, the brother of his love, who had fought alongside Robert Baratheon, his dearest friend and fellow ward of Lord Arryn, where his sister was. Eddard found his sister sickly but holding dearly to life after birthing the young Aegon Targaryen in the Tower of Joy within Dorne. She revealed to her brother her hand in her apparent kidnapping, confessing that she willingly ran away with the dragon prince out of sworn love. She expressed her disdain for marrying Robert and that she only wished to live alongside her one true love in peace, Rhaegar.

Rhaegar Targaryen ascended to the Iron Throne victorious in the rebellion and succeeded his murdered father Aerys Targaryen. All Houses who rebelled against the Crown were called to trial at the Royal Court in Kingslanding to endure their judgement by the God’s and new Dragon King.

But, the Prince, now a King, wished to ascend a new era of hope, peace and prosperity. Many Westerosi people were fearful during the eras of Targaryen reign, due to erratic and manic ruling. It was never certain what would hold for the reign under Targaryen rule; madness or greatness. When the trial ensued within the Capital and all rebelling Houses were brought to court, Rhaegar made a gesture that would forever be a moment of history across Westeros.

The King proclaimed his deepest condolences and sadness for the unnecessary bloodshed in the name of his secret affair. Rhaegar never liked war, fighting and killing. Unlike his Targaryen predecessors, he was quiet and peaceful. He announced that he did not wish to rule in the shadow of his father, the Mad King. He wished to pave a different reign of House Targaryen, one that resembled much the peaceful reign of Aegon the Conqueror.

Rhaegar Targaryen announced his forgiveness and pardon of the rebelling houses. He acknowledged with deep sympathy that his father was a troubled man...had heard strange voices and suffered terribly from mental illness from as early as the now King could remember, even as a small boy. His actions, while heinous and treacherous, were not ones he wished to endorse or continue upon his own succession to the Iron Throne.

With a soft word and firm notion, King Rhaegar announced House Baratheon would lose their seat and title, they would be shunned, exiled from the capital and maintaining trade and commonwealth with its Houses. Rhaegar legitimized Robert’s only known heir, the small, infant bastard Gendry, making him Robert’s successor of Storm’s End when his time came. No matter what child would be born to Robert after, they would never sit as the Lord or Lady of Storms End. Rhaegar wanted to bleed out the tainted blood of the House, rid the virus and groom a more suitable, compliant heir himself. One he could trust during his reign. Rhaegar would take Gendry Waters, now Baratheon as ward for punishment against Robert’s rebellion. He would become Storm End’s only legitimized heir after Robert Baratheon.

House Stark would not lose their high seat as Warden of the North. Rhaegar called for the immediate succession of Eddard Stark to rule in the north, after his late father and elder brother. Perhaps it was House Stark that lost the most during the rebellion. Maybe, it was the fact that Rhaegar’s new Queen derived from the noble name, but mercy was his word and Rhaegar ruled that House Stark would receive no retribution for raising its banners against the Royalist.

Rhaegar was much aware of the nobility the house carried and wished to honor it fiercely. Alongside, he wished to show his new wife that he was nothing of his turbulent descent and would bid goodwill from that day forward between the two houses. This would be most imperative as the new Queen hailed from the great, northern house and unrighteously lost nearly half her kin in the unnecessary war. The debt had been paid.

Rhaegar announced to the Court’s surprise that House Stark would keep its high seat as Warden in the north. In the same breath, he vowed that if Eddard Stark would have it, he would promise the Crown Princess that was born, Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, to the new Lord’s first born son and heir, when the time came.

Jon Arryn of House Arryn, Warden of the East would rise and be named as Hand of the King, to which the old Lord pleasantly obliged the great honor. His marriage to Lysa Tully would remain, and when a male heir would be produced, he would ascend to Warden of the East in their father’s name.

House Greyjoy would receive no retribution, as they did little to endorse Robert’s rebellion and only did out of cowardice. However so, King Rhaegar sensed an impending rebellion on the part of the Iron Islands, as he did not succeed them any hightitles, land or promise of great alliance through marriage. The King merely bid them a pardon and allowed them on their way.

Most peculiar and rightful as noted by the Seven Kingdoms, was the sentence of House Lannister, who had undoubtedly committed the most severe treason by murder of King Aerys Targaryen and the Crown Prince’s wife and children.

To appease Dorne, the southern territory that boiled in vengeful blood and rage for the Prince’s infidelity that led to the unnecessary death of Princess Elia and her children, Rhaegar surrendered those responsible for their deaths. His violet eyes flickered to the shackled and stoic Tywin Lannister as he demanded the names of those militants involved in the murders of his late wife and children.

Tywin’s cold eyes bore deep into the Dragon King’s eyes as he remained still in defiance. It was as though the tendrils of his sick and twisted mind were spinning and churning as they weighed the benefit and disadvantage of disclosing such sensitive intel. After what seemed like a deafening and chilling time had passed, he spoke. “Gregor Clegane raped and killed your wife and smashed the skulls of your children...he acted alone” The cunning lion spoke nonchalantly, his face never flinching as he spoke treachery.

“Who gave the order! Who gave the order to murder and rape my sister and her children! Who?!” Oberyn Martell shouted as he rose from his seat within the court. His jaw was clenched so tight, it appeared he’d sever his jaw from his own bite. “Was it you? Who was it?! It was you! You ordered her and her children to be killed!” He seethed, flying from his seat and toward the stand that held Tywin and his son.

“Enough!” Rhaegar boomed, standing at once. Lyanna grasped her husband’s hand as she peered up at him in agony and sorrow for his loss that she undoubtedly felt responsible for. Rhaegar stood, his hand a subtle tremble from between his wife’s desperate clutch. “You...will answer, Lord Lannister…” The King whispered with a hiss of a snarling dragon. His eyes cut deep into the old lion who still, despite the outburst, remained composed and stoic.

Silence filled the court once more. “He acted alone. I gave no such order,” Tywin remarked slyly, a small glint of atrocity in his evil eye. The corner of his mouth tugged upward in slight as he cleared his throat once more. “Gregor Clegane is but a young, twisted, man that the sight of blood excites. He has taken these atrocities as a merit of his own. I would never order such a thing...Your Grace” Tywin answered smugly. Rhaegar’s chest heaved in a fiery rage as he contemplated the Lord’s words. Surely he had been the one to order it, but with no proof and no omission...and if he ordered the Lord to be killed on potentially false charges, who would he be? Who would he have become?

Greatness over madness.

“Bring me Gregor Clegane” The King spoke calmly as he lowered himself once more into his throne. Chainmail rattled as it took four Kingsguard to wrestle the abominable soldier to his feet before the King, even whilst shackled.

A Kingsguard kicked the ogre of a man to his knees, forcing him to bow before his King. His eyes found Rhaegar’s own as he stared menacingly into them, a flicker of regret or remorse not present in his cold, blood-lusting eyes. Oberyn gripped the railing of his stand, his hand a tremble of rage and murderous intent as he gazed upon the killer who was nicknamed “The Mountain”.

“You stand accused of murdering and raping Elia Martell, the late Crown Princess and my children. You smashed their skulls in. They were a babe of two and another not even alive for more than three moons...do you deny it?” Rhaegar seethed, his body vibrating and brewing a fiery rage that willed itself to burst from the dragon’s chest. Still, he remained composed.

Gregor Clegane gazed upon the King in defiance, a twisted smirk upon his strange face as his eyes flickered over to Tywin Lannister who remained stoic and silent. A moment passed between their eyes that lasted an eternity. Rhaegar wondered what ill-word the evil lion could’ve been projecting upon the man as they danced with their eyes. “Answer me!” King Rhaegar boomed, thrusting from his throne. The court flinched at the roar of the dragon.

“I do not. I raped Elia Martell and killed your children on my own. I stumbled upon her hiding in your chambers looking pretty in Dorne red...breast swollen from the milk of a mother. I just wanted a taste. So I took it. Again. Again. And again until her cunt was raw and in pieces. And when her cunt was too butchered, I took her mouth until her fucking teeth caved in from my cock. And then I gutted her from the butchered cunt up. But it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I seen your daughter’s legs sticking out from under the bed, so I dragged her out sliced her from her own cunt up. Like mother like daughter...and that fuckin’ son of yours wouldn’t stop crying so I smashed his head on the stone wall until all that came out was a gurgled whimper. And then silence. Sweet...silence. And I’d do it again…” Gregor Clegane spat, a sick smirk on his twisted, evil face.

Rhaegar trembled, his breath hot at his chest. The court whispered and whined, an unknown woman screamed, another cried out in horror and Gregor Clegane smiled at it all with his head tipped toward the ceiling as though he garnered dark satisfaction from the sound of absolute pain. “Lord Oberyn, he is yours to dispose. May the Gods never take mercy on your soul Gregor Clegane” Rhaegar calmly spoke as he trembled downward into his seat, his eyes shut and face shimmering from the agonizing tears that fled his eyes.

The court gasped. Eyes fell onto Oberyn Martell who clenched his jaw and exhaled a sharp breath of rage and pain through his nose. He clenched his fist and departed his seat slowly, eyes focused on the Mountain before him. He passed a Kingsguard slowly, stripping him of the sword at his hilt. The Guard flinched, his hand raising to retrieve the stolen steel. But King Rhaegar raised his hand in hault of the soldier. And the soldier complied.

Oberyn stalked like a viper to the Mountain who rose at once to the Lord. “Release him” Oberyn ordered calmly. The Kingsguard snapped their gaze to the King who simply nodded his approval. On their King’s demand, he was released.

The Mountain smirked cracking his head from side to side. “Fucking desert scum. I’ll rip your fucking head—

Without another word spared, Oberyn thrust the sword into the Mountain’s pelvis and cock, earning a shrill from the court in surprise. The Mountain too, was taken aback, not expecting the Lord to lunge so quick, so stealth, so viper-like. Oberyn twisted the sword at its destination, causing the large man to cry out and drop to his knee. And as he dropped, the Lord yelled his rage and sorrow and dragged the cold steel up and through the Mountain’s belly, chest, throat and head, splitting him in half before the court and emptying the contents of his body.

The sound of blood spilling onto the floor elicited more shrieks and sounds of horror as it pooled and crept ominously to the numerous people behind stands. As the Mountain’s body fell slack and slumped in half at Oberyn feet, he dropped the steel suddenly he had wielded. Oberyn stared at the man split in two on the ground before him, and as though it were second nature, he lifted his heavy boot and stomped. Over and over he grunted and slammed his foot down, the Mountain's split skull crunching loudly beneath his rage, the sound of his brain splattering the golden floors and spreading out like an incompetent kitchen wench had clumsily dropped a pot of pig stew.

Pink slime and blood mixed spread wide and far as men and women screamed and shrieked at the barbaric spectacle before them. Slowly, the red liquid travelled in strange silence to the stand that held Tywin Lannister. He glanced downward calmly as it began to pool around his and his son’s foot. Jaime stared horrifyingly at the sea of red he stood within, his mind suddenly frantic at the thought of what would come to him next if the King would allow this madness before the Gods. Alas, the young lion was naive; there were no Gods here.

His eyes fell onto Rhaegar who had the same stoic and smug look on his face that his father once held. Satisfied, yet not enough.

“Bring me Tywin and Jaime Lannister,” He spoke calmly once more his hands folding beneath his pale face in anticipation. “That will be all, Oberyn. The Crown thanks you for your service” The King spoke solemnly. Oberyn kicked a piece of the Mountain's skull towards the stand that held the Lannister men, his eyes wild in animalistic rage and face speckled with brain matter and blood. He stared wide eyed and alive at the lions, his tongue flickering out like a true viper to lick the splashed blood from his lip. He was a man possessed in agony and rage. Slowly, he turned and walked back to his seat behind the stand that housed the Loyalist. They watched in silence, no one daring to meet his ravenous eye.

The Court had fell gravely still as the King called for Jaime and Tywin Lannister to approach their new King. The city was silent. It was as though time had stood still and you could hear a pin drop within the great court. Many who spectacled the trial was sure that King Rhaegar, though his heart kind and appearing still of violence unlike his late father, would call for the pair to be burned alive in the Dragon Pit by honor and duty to his House’s name. Or perhaps, he’d send for Lord Oberyn once more. There was just enough madness in the new King for the court to assume anything, it would seem. What would slip from the King’s lips would forever be etched in the highfolk of Kingslanding and Lord’s who bared witness mind’s that day.

Rhaegar sat proudly upon his iron throne, his silver hair had seemed to grow grotesque and wary with distress as he peered pitifully upon the yellow-haired men before him.

Jaime Lannister was a dashing young Lord to come, perhaps not even a boy yet of seven and ten who seemed deeply troubled by his portrayal in the trial. His father, remained stoic alongside his heir. He was unmoved by testimony that portrayed his wrath and cruelty. Perhaps, the old lion was even amused.

As rebelling Houses gave testimony, Rhaegar’s mind worked in silence. He thought for a moment, it would be just to sentence them to the same fate as Gregor Clegane. But what if the Lord was telling the truth? What if he did act alone? And what of the young Jaime Lannister who murdered the King’s father? Prior Kingsguard gave testimony to corroborate Jaime’s claim that the late King Aerys did in fact call for Jaime to bring him his own father’s head and worse, spark the wildfire and kill half a million innocent people. Was Jaime truly guilty then?

Rhaegar rubbed tirelessly at his temples, his mind ramped with contradictory thoughts and anger. He wanted them dead. But as testimony was given and Rhaegar peered at the many faces of his capital that took audience in the court, many were horrified at what they had witnessed moments before.

Rhaegar could still hear the court’s shrieks behind his ear as he recalled the satisfying sight and sounds. He flinched internally at his thoughts. Satisfying? Was he like his father then? How could the new King expect his kingdom to bow to his reign and claim of a new era free of madness and murder if he would allow more killing and blood to be spilled in such a holy place? What would he be showing the common people and neighboring Houses if he continued to splatter men’s skulls and brain matter across this hall?

Nothing new, more of the same.

It was obvious—at least, it appeared so. Jaime Lannister had committed the highest form of treason. Kingslayer, the Court whispered as they called forth the young, golden haired Knight and his murderous father. Jaime, shackled and bound, observed the way Rhaegar peered down upon him from his throne. He cringed inwardly, bile raising from the pit of his core to bite defiantly at his silver tongue. He was frightened, though the young knight would be damned before whimpering his woe. Jaime Lannister would not bend at his choice to kill Mad King Aerys.

“You stand accused of murdering the late King Aerys Targaryen, a man who you were sworn to protect against the evils of the realm. You stabbed him in the back with your sword and left him to bleed out. Do you deny it?” Rhaegar spoke simply, his hands folded neat and silent across his lap. His violet eyes were hard and cold upon the fallen knight. The court fell silent as their sheep-like stares flocked silently to the young Lannister accused, awaiting a word to draw forth from stained lips.

Jaime straightened in his shackles. The clanking of the chains threatened the deafening silence that had stifled the room suddenly. “I do not” he remarked coldly, his own eyes holding firm on the scrutinizing King. Rhaegar shifted notably in his throne, adjusting himself to peer harsher down at the lion before him. Jaime did not flinch or break the King’s gaze.

“I demand you tell the court your truth in why you slayed my father, their late King. Say it here, before the Old Gods and New!” Rhaegar spoke loudly, his once handsome and stoic face had twisted into something menacing. It was as though the Dragon Prince has morphed into the sigil his house bore.

Jaime stood silent, his eyes lowering for the first time in the many moments that passed painfully slow within the keep. He peered up from beneath yellow tresses, finding familiar green eyes that locked upon his own helplessly.

Cersei.

Cersei watched her brother painfully as she was much aware of what would come to him despite whatever begging word he may have drawn. Jaime mirrored her pain, his eyes melting into something less murderous and more affectionate, something he had secretly held for the young lioness since adolescence. He had never told her truly, how he admired her emerald gaze. And even though he’d seen it every day in the mirror, it always felt like the first time when he’d gaze into her own.

He loved her, his sister, and she did not know. She had never noticed his longing stare that’d followed her around Casterly Rock, or a tender smile that he held when she’d remark something clever. Too tender for a brother, but oblivious to an innocent sister. Cersei was fierce, bold, unapologetic and unchallenged. A true lioness. And Jaime loved her wholly in silence. But he knew she loved another; Rhaegar Targaryen.

The Prince, now a King who she was once promised to. She was a bit obsessed with the silver-haired Prince in their youth. All she wanted was to be Queen—no, she would be Queen, she vowed. And when the opportunity presented itself and his father Tywin seen an opportunity to endorse Robert’s war and gain his favor when he took the throne, he’d sell his daughter like a broodmare to the triumphant King.

But Robert lost his war, and Cersei her King.

Jaime watched the way Cersei’s eyes would flicker to Rhaegar as he sat nobly upon his throne. She’d watch way he’d absentmindedly caress or take his new wife’s hand, The Queen, Lyanna Stark and Targaryen by marriage. Cersei’s eyes would cut and become as sharp as raw emerald. Her rage smoldered behind a silent, prudish grimace. It should’ve been her. “She’d kill her, if she could” Jaime thought to himself as he watched his twin sister’s face twist menacingly at the sight of Lyanna Stark. As though Cersei heard his internal ramble, or somehow mysteriously felt his silent word through their intimate connection, she met his equivalent stare once more.

Her eyes softened. Jaime felt his heart grow weak at the sight. He vowed in that moment, that if King Rhaegar would be gracious enough to extend his mercies to House Lannister, he’d tell her. He would tell his sister of the love he held for her.

“Speak, or I will sentence you to death now” King Rhaegar suddenly boomed, successfully drawing the young lion from his internal angst. Jaime met his cold stare once more, his lips parting for the first time within the tense moments.

“I did it because King Aerys, your father, ordered the death of many innocent people. Women, children...the sick...my own father...I could not honor the request and when he called for the city to burn in wildfire,I acted the only way I could validate. Too many innocent lost their lives for your treachery. I wouldn’t allow more” Jaime spoke evenly, his voice never faltering or quivering under such pressure and scrutiny. He peered at his sister once more who observed him in sorrow. Her eyes watered at his reveal.

“You and your father betrayed the Crown, betrayed this city, murdered innocent people and children for power and for claim. I should burn you alive where you stand. I should allow Lord Oberyn Martell to have his way with you like he had The Mountain, for honor to my house in which you disrespected. I should skin you and hang the lifeless sacks of your flesh from my castle or bore your head on spikes for all to see…but I won’t”.

Jaime’s eyes lifted astonishingly. He stared confused and bewildered at the King. He turned curtly to his father who remained unmoved by the King’s breath of kindness.

“Instead, I will strip you of your honor as a Kingsguard and you will return to Casterly Rock, with your father, brother and sister…” King Rhaegar spoke evenly, his words eliciting a sea of shock and whisper among the great court.

Mercy?

Oberyn Martell thrust from his seat, anger washing over his already blooded and animalistic face. “They are accomplices to your father’s murder! To Elia and your children!” Oberyn roared, gripping the banister of his stand so fiercely, his knuckles faded to white.

“The Mountain is responsible for their deaths! You heard the testimonies! Tywin ordered for Elia and my children to be taken hostage as bargaining for my surrender. I...the pain of knowing what they succumbed to for my own treachery...you have avenged them, Lord Oberyn. Now, let me do my duty as your King to avenge my capital and my people” Rhaegar spoke proudly and solemnly. He closed his eyes, finding the stillness in his heart that his mother had worked tirelessly to foster and grow since he was a boy. To be merciful—greatness over madness.

Jaime turned to his father Tywin who smirked silently. Rhaegar was a fool. The old lion chuckled in his mind at the naive new King. Surely Rhaegar’s kind heart and forgiving nature would be the death of his rule. “You shall never take a wife, you will never bear an heir. Your House will live and die with your name, as my father’s name died with his. To not take a wife and raise an heir was an honor as a Kingsguard. Now, I sentence you to hold your oath true without the honorable title.” Rhaegar spoke venomously while the court whispered in disbelief.

Jaime watched the King in sheer bewilderment of his word. Still, the dragon continued. “Your House will live and die with your name. That is unless Lord Tywin should choose the dwarf to succeed him” Rhaegar’s violet and wise eyes flickered mockingly to the old lion who had suddenly turned red in rage. “But I think he would rather not. I suppose you were the last hope for House Lannister. Pitty. You may have your life, Lannisters. Enjoy it while it remains. Enjoy the little glory it holds. Soon, it will end. Your name will disappear. You are stripped of your titles, of your honor, you are exiled and shunned along with House Baratheon. Your House will fall and become extinct as you meant to exterminate my own” Rhaegar spoke as he stood proudly, Lyanna rising at his side in solidarity with her husband.

The Royal court boomed in whisper as they sang their new King and Queen’s name proud. The rebelling Houses drew forth and declared their fealty. All hail would be given to King Rhaegar and his wolf Queen, Lyanna Stark. All hail for a new era of hope, peace and prosperity. All hail for the Prince born, Aegon Targaryen, heir to the Iron Thorne after his father, King Rhaegar Targaryen the Just and Noble.

The bells in Kingslanding rang triumphantly in the Capital. King Rhaegar had announced his word and claimed his rule—and all of the Seven Kingdoms bent their knee.

Long may he reign.

—

King Rhaegar Targaryen walked the garden of the Red Keep quietly. He smiled small at the servants and folk who served his reign within the halls, stopping every so often to chat with a wench or passing Maester.

The King was in search of his son. Word had broke the Keep early of Aegon’s return to the Capital. The King was overjoyed—relieved, to say the least. It has been nearly a year since he’d seen his only living son off for a mission beyond the northern wall. His brother-in-law and Warden of the north, Eddard Stark had wrote him a year before to inform him that he had personally executed a deserter of the Night’s Watch. The deserter exclaimed frantically of wights and undead soldiers beyond the wall. While the King was concerned, he was not moved completely by the coward’s words.

Since the time of Aegon’s Conquest, there had been alleged sightings of the others. But he was scarcely concerned in the matter; no one had ever truly seen one. King Neve, the true King beyond the wall had been holding his reign secure and keeping instances of wildings at bay from his frosted lands. But Ned bid Rhaegar his own concern upon parchment by raven. It was a matter the King should not scarcely ignore. So, he called for an investigation by the Targaryen Guard to venture beyond the wall and meet with King Eldor Neve’s army and investigate these wight instances and further exterminate the wildling threat.

Rhaegar was indifferent when his only son Aegon insisted on joining the party that was to venture north. Lyanna had nearly lost her breath when Rhaegar agreed. “‘My boy, my only boy!” He recalled her cries within their private bed chamber. While Rhaegar shared his wife’s concern in private, he knew it was a duty that must be upheld by the Crown Prince to see the mission through.

He tried his damndest to reassure his frantic wife that their son would be safe. Aegon was among allies and took an army of nearly a hundred with him. Better that, he took the King’s ward, his brother, Gendry Baratheon as his second-in-command. But on the day of his departure from the capital, the King felt more unsure of his choice than the day he had fled with his young wife many years ago in search of a haven. But his boy had returned, and Gendry too. Unscathed, unharmed and well. Or so he thought.

Rhaegar entered a terrace within the Keep that was secluded from the bustle and noise the rest of the castle usually held. Dusk had laid its gentle kiss upon Kingslanding’s skies, a soft hym of summer breeze and birds preparing to take sleep for the night beckoned at his ear as he entered the scape.

He glanced quietly about the terrace, his intuition heightened and assured of a quiet presence that would be here. And sure enough, he was correct. His son stood solemnly at a balcony, peering down at the Capital before him. “Aegon my son, you are home” Rhaegar called quietly, approaching his son who seemed riddled in distress. It was unlike his boy to not greet his parents upon return of trip. Something was amiss.

Aegon’s head rose timidly at the sound of his father’s voice breaking his thought. “Father” he acknowledged quietly, turning once more to his view of the city. The Prince was quiet like usual, reserved and within deep thought. It was not unlike his personality or regular activities to be found alone and pondering to himself. Rhaegar and his Queen were much aware of their son’s secluded and reserved personality. It seemed the only person who could really bring the Prince’s laughter and cheer about was his best friend, Gendry Baratheon.

But the ward of the King was not present.

Rhaegar met his son at the balcony and joined him in gazing endearingly upon the Capital below. He watched as common-people filled the streets. Mothers called to their children and merchants announced their retreat for the night. All the while, his son stood silent at his side, his dark curls dancing in the wind that ran through it defiantly.

Aegon was still basked in his bold, black and red armor. His face was riddled with dirt from the journey he’d taken home. The King wondered for a moment if he had never taken his armor off because he planned to depart again. “Bless your mother’s heart if that is the path you plan to take, my son” Rhaegar thought silently as he observed his son’s stoic demeanor.

“You did not come to find your mother and I” The King proclaimed, turning to his unusually quiet son. Aegon did not move at his father’s voice. Rhaegar watched adoringly his son and his distressed look. He was truly all Stark. Hair as dark as soot from a chimney and his mother’s Stark grey eyes. If he was not the King’s boy, surely someone would question the Prince’s legitimacy.

“I apologize father. I wished for a moment of quiet” Aegon muttered, turning finally to meet his father’s violet stare. “I have missed you. And mother, too, dearly” a small smile graced the Prince’s lips as he turned completely to his father. Rhaegar smiled small, mirroring his heir’s expression. Perhaps the boy wasn’t troubled.

“How did the mission fair?” Rhaegar mused quietly, gripping his son’s armored shoulder. Aegon frowned discreetly, his eyes flickering back towards the Capital.

“It was not a success but not a total loss. We gained valuable information”.

“Speak, my son” Rhaegar beckoned, searching his troubled son’s stormy eyes for what he had learned beyond the wall. Concern had begun to stew at the King’s core when he did not find it.

“We were able to meet with King Neve and he granted us his army. We ventured deep into the oasis of the Northern Territory, but did not find any wights. Perhaps the deserter Uncle Ned encountered was mad and sick with starvation. Or, maybe he fantasized what he saw. King Neve did not share the Castle Black’s concern. He said he hasn’t encountered a wight in his entire reign.Though, the wildlings expand in numbers every year. Mance Rayder grows his army every day and he seeks the alliance of giants, and cannibals. Castle Black claims they’ve seen more attempts on the wall in the last five years than ever before. They are the true concern” Aegon spoke solemnly, his face twisted in a disturbance his father could not fathom.

“We were able to infiltrate isolated wildling camps and exterminate them. But somehow, they were able to send word back to Mance’s army and evade our efforts on other camps. When we’d reach those settlements we found strange things. Food, weaponry...evidence of living but no life” Aegon muttered, rubbing his young temples in strain. Flashbacks of his men screeching and bloodshed filled his mind as he recalled each encounter his army met against the wildlings.

So many men lost and so many who simply disappeared without a trace.

“The wildlings are King Neve’s concern. The Targaryen’s confidence in House Neve’s reign is the reason why they are independent of our realm. He is the King beyond the wall, as I am the King from within. King Aegon the first of his name did not conquer beyond the wall, that duty he entrusted to his great friend Eldor Neve the Brave, first of his name, an Andal” King Rhaegar spoke proudly. Aegon sighed deeply. He knew the story and had been lectured relentlessly on it so. Still, he allowed his father to speak.

“In an act of goodwill for Eldor securing an unknown territory that could’ve cost the man his life, King Aegon agreed that he would separate the two kingdoms so long as Neve secured beyond the wall while he secured from within. How he secured the vast north has and always been his Kingdom’s concern. King Neve is a good man, a good ruler and a fair King. Our alliance has been strong and true. His duty is one I will always bid great thanks. Is he concerned, Aegon?” Rhaegar asked boldly, his stare slicing through his son’s indifference. But Aegon did not waiver. He shook his head in disagreement.

“No, father. King Neve is much in control beyond the wall. The wildlings are less a concern to him than the rumored wights. Besides, I feel they are adapt to face these creatures if a concern were to arise” Aegon replied curtly, his grey eyes flickering unsurely to his dragon father. Rhaegar sat at chair that lay timid upon the strangely quiet terrace. He drew in a wary breath, meeting his son’s eyes. There was silent strain.

“They concern you” King Rhaegar spoke boldly, eyeing his son who’s demeanor never rid the wariness it boasted. It was not a question. 

“They—House Neve...the King, his wife, the twin boy and girl—father, they…” Aegon began, his brooding glare abruptly turning back to the newly darkened skies of the Capital. “They are not like us. They are a different breed” he whispered, unsure of his own voice. Rhaegar inhaled a deep breath, his violet glare smoldering his son’s grey one.

“I am aware”

“How—why? why let a foreign entity hold such power? They have a separate Kingdom from our own and abide by different law and custom. Father, in the moons I spent at Frostmore, I witnessed things unlike anything I’ve ever saw. They unsettled me. At least, they had. From their snow white hair, to their unnatural haunting blue eyes. The way the cold speaks to them is unsettling. I will not speak ill of the King, he was fair and kind to me, and his wife too. But something was different, something terribly wrong” Aegon muttered carefully, unwilling to announce his concern to ears that might’ve been curious of the King and Prince’s silent word. Rhaegar rose from his seat, his eyes wary but full of knowledge the young Prince could scarcely interpret.

“My son, do you remember the story of Aegon the Conqueror and his conquest of Westeros?” King Rhaegar asked after a grueling moment spared between the two dragons. Aegon nodded slowly, his sight flickering once more to the Capital.

“Eldor the Brave was an Andal and trusted companion of Aegon through his years of conquering. When the Dornish wars ensued, Aegon was concerned of the territories to the north and south that he had not overtaken. With Dorne already posing to be a hostile territory, he wondered what would come if he attempted to seize the north beyond the wall. Stories of wights, Children of the Forest and First Men bid warning to his ear. He was wise beyond his years and gracious to those who endorsed his cause. Eldor vowed to journey beyond the northern wall and seize it with the help of First Men he encountered and conquered” Rhaegar muttered solemnly recalling the ages old story that had been passed down from Targaryen crib to cradle.

“He swore to build alliance through promise of land to northern men and magical creatures. It took many years, but Eldor Neve succeeded...at a price. That price was one many could not interpret the debt. They say what the Lord found beyond the wall was unlike any living creature or man he’d encountered before. Some say he swore his allegiance to the Children of the Forest and others say he encountered the wights he’d heard ruled the land beyond. Yet, the Lord triumphed, and sent word back to Aegon when the land was claimed. But what he bid to Aegon’s ear of his triumph was enough for our great Dragon Lord to want no parts of it” Rhaegar carressed his aging chin skeptically as though he were pondering the story as he spoke it. No Targaryen knew truly the instances that occurred beyond the wall. No one dared to question King Neve. Perhaps, they were at risk then.

Rhaegar rose from his seat, clearing his throat once more. “Instead, he drafted a treaty with Eldor that bid that if the Lord would stay in the north, he would hold a separation of the Kingdoms. Aegon would never seek a rule in the land. Whatever it was that Aegon discovered about Eldor’s rule beyond the wall or how he got that rule, it was enough for the great conqueror to wash his hand of the matter. And so, Eldor reigned from beyond that wall, swearing allegiance to Aegon and vowing to hold his word true to keep instances of wildlings and wights from penetrating the northern wall” Rhaegar spoke gravely, his mind afloat beyond the quiet moment he shared with his son.

Aegon observed his father curiously, wondering what exactly besieged the King’s mind so. His father was a man of composure and strength. He rarely had ever been silent or wary with words he spoke. But something unsettled the King and Aegon could feel it. Perhaps it was what had unsettled him too.

“I read once as a young boy in Maester Pycelle’s library a history of Westeros. I had been taught so much of my lineage as a southerner and yet so little as a descendant of the north. Mother hated it. She would sometimes find me as a small boy and sit me on her lap and tell me stories of northern men who had magic in their veins. It was magic they learned from living alongside Children of the Forest. I stumbled upon a book one day about men who could change their skin from beyond the wall. I read about Children of the Forest creating these strange creatures. Men, who were undead and carried ice in their veins to fight the First Men when they invaded. But they lost control of them. On another page I read of The Long Night when darkness fell on the world. These wights and their Night King, a man who was winter himself—they say his eyes were like glowing ice and his army lay siege to everything and every person they touched. They—

“Stories, my boy. There hasn’t been a sighting of these things, this Night King, in thousands of years, Aegon. You are a Prince, don’t concern yourself with the stories of peasants and wildlings. They are meant to frighten folk and we are no folk, we carry the blood of dragons, fire…” Rhaegar spoke proudly, turning to his son who seemed paranoid by the stories he’d read.

It was true, Rhaegar had heard the stories as well as a young boy but that’s all they were. Stories. Spoken by Septas and handmaidens, by fathers and mothers to keep there children in line and from venturing out beyond their sight. Nothing more and nothing less.

“But father, what if they are not? I don’t believe these are simply bedside tales for children who are reluctant to abide rule. I seen King Neve and his family. They—they have their eyes. The haunting, ice blue eyes. What if they are the wights? Father, you should’ve seen. The twin Princess—” Aegon felt his heart begin to sputter at the mention of the maiden who undoubtedly was the plague at his mind since his return from the north.

Her.

“Princess Eira. I’ve heard tales of her beauty. How is she and her twin brother the Crown Prince...Eiran...they are your age, I do believe. And the youngest daughter...yes...Eireena. I’ve heard she is slowly coming into her own as a young Princess. Her ten and fifth nameday had passed in the moon's you were among their presence. You were acquainted?” King Rhaegar suddenly interjected. He could feel where his son was threatening to bring these words they spoke in secret.

It was not a conversation he was willing to have on what should be a joyous occasion. What with Varys the Spider always lurking his halls. It was better if these conversations were held for a more secure time. Aegon had always been a curious boy, even as a child. The Queen would poke jest at her husband and say how he was just like him in his early days. Always thinking, always brooding over the unknown. Rhaegar smiled quietly at the notion.

“Eira is well. Very, well…” Aegon muttered, his sight suddenly dissipating towards the terrace ground. The sputtering in his chest had begun to make his blood flow hot and rapid through his veins as he recalled the elder northern girl and twin to the Prince. Rhaegar observed the change in his son’s demeanor, his own mind’s tendrils beginning to turn.

“Just she? What of her brother and sister, then? Or did you not spend time with them as well?” Rhaegar questioned, his violet eyes leering curiously into his suddenly rigid son.

“I didn’t spend time with her” Aegon suddenly spoke, his back straightening as though he’d been burned by something unknown his father might’ve been suggesting. Rhaegar relaxed at his son’s sudden outburst. He eyed him peculiarly from the corner of his eye. “They are well. Eiran too is well. He is...overwhelming. Challenging, really. We didn’t always see eye to eye when we journeyed deep into the north. He is fierce and bold. He reminds me of Uncle Viserys. Hungry for power, hungry to conquer. He wasn’t happy when the wildling disturbance wasn’t immediately terminated. He was angry. And is content. Both women don’t speak often in the presence of their brother” Aegon spoke sheepishly, unimpressed it would seem by his encounter with the Prince in particular. “I don’t believe he was happy with our presence north. He called it invading, as though we had little respect or confidence in their capability to secure their borders” Aegon chuckled, a rare smile gracing his handsome face. King Rhaegar mirrored the expression, his own resembling much of his son’s.

“Yes, I met Eiran many years ago during the celebration of the Seven Kingdoms maintaining peace. A grand tournament within the capital. You were all perhaps two name days. Eireena had yet to be birthed. Even being so young, Eiran was quite aggressive towards his sister Eira. He’d strike her, but the girl was not submissive. I watched Eiran push the small girl to the ground and she rose as quickly as she’d been cast. She grabbed his arm with eyes as cold as the lands she hailed from, and—well, I do believe that might’ve been the last time that young boy ever cried so helplessly for his mother” Rhaegar paused for a moment, recalling something he suddenly realized he should keep at bay. His eyes flickered back to his son to observe if he’d caught his father’s indifference.

Aegon had. But he knew better than to question his father and his choice in words. He would leave the matter for now.

“It is a pity Eira is sworn to him…tragic, really. I don’t think their betrothal has brought the Princess much pleasure. But I know nothing of their relationship now. Perhaps it is different” Rhaegar suddenly spoke once more. The words left his lips cautiously as though they would disturb his son. At least, a hint of disturbance was what the King was in search of within in son. And sure enough, he found it. Aegon shifted uneasily in his chainmail, his hand falling to his hilt where he grasped it roughly. His eyes had begun to weather a storm that his father did not wish to navigate.

Rhaegar sighed deeply. What he had been concerned of when he agreed to allow his son to venture north a year ago, might possibly have came true. “Aegon…”

“I don’t understand it. Why should she marry her brother—

“Aegon, this is tradition within House Neve as has been tradition in our own. Marrying brother to sister has been a way to keep bloodlines pure. Perhaps Eiran will take both sisters as his wives when Eireena becomes of age as well. Aegon the Conqueror took both his sisters, too. As well, your grandfather and grandmother were brother and sister—

“How well did that turn out” Aegon demanded, his voice threatening the still night. He pressed his lip together when he’d realized he had rose his voice to his father—The King. “Forgive me father, I’ve no right...”

“Be still, my son. I am not offended. I know it is peculiar to some. Many people over the centuries of Targaryen rule believed the same. If my mother had bore Daenerys close in age to myself, perhaps I would’ve taken her as well to be my Queen. Aegon, you could still take her—Daenerys, as your Queen if you should choose. It would not come as a surprise to me, or your mother. You two had been close in youth—

“I love Daenerys. Truly, but she is my aunt. I have never seen her in that light and I could never. I’m sure she feels the same. Besides, you have sworn her to Robb. If Robb will not have her, Uncle Vis— Aegon spoke quick, but to no avail.

The king raised his hand in halt of his hurried words. Aegon sighed, he didn’t wish for his father to linger on these conversations of marriage any longer. It had been a topic that his mother had stressed upon him before he left for the north. Perhaps, it was the driving force behind his push to lead an army beyond the wall. To escape the inevitable. Gendry had bid him jest on his apparent flee of the Capital.

He recalled Gendry’s jest against him upon the King’s Road on their journey north. He he revealed he had no intention of being matched by his parents. “You’re a damn fool, Aegon. Your parents wish to walk beautiful maidens from across the land into your castle to woo you! Untouched virgins, Aegon! You are a bloody fool. The maidens scream your name from the north to the crownlands, to even fuckin’ Dorne! Do you think the King and Queen could do the same for me?”

“A matter that could be rearranged. Ned has bid me conversations of his own hopes for his boy” Rhaegar muttered, eyeing his suddenly irritated son. “And Viserys, he is adamant about maintaining bloodlines. I know he wishes to have Daenerys as his bride but Daenerys is soft. I worry he will crush her under his cruel fists…” The Prince was unmoved by the gesture. Perhaps, he was even upset by it all.

“No, father. I don’t want that—I don’t want Dany. I am grateful, but I must decline” Aegon replied lazily, rubbing his suddenly aged face from the tiring conversations he wished to avoid.

“Your twenty and two nameday is among us, my son. Your mother plans a grand feast in your name. You are a man, now. Most men your age have long taken a wife by now and bore an heir. Your mother hopes you won’t make her wait too long to hear the patter of her grandchildren’s feet in our noble halls” Rhaegar smiled at his son who had suddenly begun to retreat back into the keep. He knew Aegon was less concerned of being married and bearing children.

What with his brother Gendry at his influence, he knew taking a wife would be the end of the infamous duo and their wooing of maidens. Well, perhaps the end of Gendry’s. He was much like his stag father in his love for women and wine. And what better way to garner the attention of maidens, then by taking the Crown Prince with you on your journeys to taverns and brothels.

Though Gendry was quite the proud stag it would seem, Aegon was not as brazen and his mother and father knew it. Aegon was much like the King; quiet, reserved, gentle...but fierce like a dragon when he needed to be. He would simply smile and politely decline the advances of maidens and noblemen who’d offer their finest whore his way. No, the women were all for Gendry. At least, that’s what the Prince would say.

Aegon shook his head in distress, though a small smile graced his lips, allowing for a moment of amusement at his father’s word. “I wish you wouldn’t speak such things. Mother is patient. She has waited this long, she can wait a bit longer. Besides, if I know my mother, this grand feast is a courting conquest disguised as my name day celebration” Aegon’s smile grew as he recalled his mother’s bold and clever demeanor. The King would say it was what stole his heart. The Queen knew her boy would not willingly agree to a courting feast. He would have to be tricked, for if he knew what were to come, he’d likely disappear from the Capital the day of and return with excuses of partaking on a hunt. And undoubtedly, Gendry Baratheon would be by his side to endorse his claim. Though, it would be certain he’d have a few choice words with the Prince about dragging him from the Capital when so many maidens were in the city.

Rhaegar chuckled lightly at his son’s frustration with his daring mother. Lyanna was truly bold and adamant with her desires. Nonetheless, her deepest wants came from a tender place in her heart for her boy. Her only, sweet boy. “Go to your mother, she awaits you in your chamber. You’d be wise to keep her waiting no longer, Aegon” King Rhaegar spoke firmly, turning to the terrace’s grand overlook. Aegon watched his father curiously as he quickly realized The King would not be joining them.

“Off for an evening flight, father?” The Prince smiled at his father who had begun to shrug out of his heavy furs, revealing similar chainmail and armor that resembled much his own.

A thunderous swoosh and blast of warm wind shook the trees of the terrace and swept crisp wind about the King and his son. Aegon peered upon the castle as a great, black shadow lapped over its grand walls and dissipated just as suddenly as it had appeared. With a great lurch and thud, The Prince watched in an awe that never seemed to diminish as Rhaegal, his father’s dragon, landed in a great might upon the terrace overlook. The massive beast shook about its great head and gave an exasperated yawn. He turned his bold, reptilian head toward the two dragons, eyeing them curiously. “Rhaegal, you’ve been absent from my skies for nearly two days, boy…” King Rhaegar spoke sternly to the great beast as he stood before it. Rhaegal lowered his puckered snout, beckoning the King for a caress the beast had learned to love.

Aegon watched admiringly as his father stroked the dragon’s snout and began to whisper to it in Valeryian. “What have you told him?” Aegon questioned, approaching his father slowly. Rhaegar paused his coo of his grand beast and glanced skeptically at his son. Aegon lowered his eyes with a deep sigh. He knew what was to come next from his father’s lecturing lips.

“You would know if you kept up your Valeryian. It is the mother tongue of your house, Aegon” Rhaegar muttered in mild jest at his young son. He flashed him a mocking smirk and began to pull himself upon the great beast.

“When can I ride him, father? Not with you but by myself” Aegon mused, his face melting into an expression he’d held often as a young boy when he’d ask similar questions. Rhaegar glanced over his shoulder as he mounted Rhaegal, his lips uplifted in jest and disapproval.

“When you learn your mother tongue. how do you expect to command the beast if you can’t speak it’s word? A dragon is not a—

“Slave...I know, father. I will learn. I swear it” Aegon sighed while shaking his head in disappointment. “Before I marry, I promise” The young Prince smiled mischievously at his King father. Rhaegar chuckled lightly and whispered a command to his dragon. Without a sparing thought, the beast rose and expanded its massive wings, preparing for flight.

“In other words...not soon. Pity. These are grand beast, my son, and a rush you might never know” King Rhaegar smirked once more in mischief to his Prince son. “Tell your mother I will not be long and Aegon, do not disway your mother from her preparations for your name day. The ravens have already taken flight to alert the country of the feast and celebrations in your name. I suppose you were a moon too late in returning. Welcome back, I am happy you are home, my boy” King Rhaegar winked at his son before Rhaegal beat his wings proudly and took flight from the quiet terrace.

Aegon watched for a moment as his father rose into the still, summer skies. His body and dragon had disappeared and became a mere freckle on the night. He smiled small to himself and turned finally to the castle once more.

“As am I, father…”


	2. Celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If we don't make tough decisions today our children are going to have to make much, much tougher decisions tomorrow” —Paul Ryan

Clamor of steel on steel rang angrily through the busy training grounds of the Red Keep. “Aegon, you are slow at recovering. It’ll be your head, my Prince” Aron Santagar, the Master of Arms of the great castle warned as he oversaw The Crown Prince and Gendry Baratheon’s daily training regimen. 

He had been training the young Prince and his dear friend since the time they were able to lift a sword. The Knight took great pride and responsibility in overseeing their progression. “That’s it...again!” He bellowed, as Aegon withdrew his steel and evaded an aggressive counter from his best friend. Aegon grit his teeth, the sweat trickling from his brow and stinging an open gash the young dragon had gained only a moment earlier. Gendry and Aegon never held back during their practice. What was the point? It would prove no use in bettering their swordsman ability and would eventually cost them their lives when the day came true to test their acquired skills in combat. 

Gendry gripped his sword roughly between calloused hands as he took an offensive stance in wait for the dragon to strike. The mighty Targaryen circled his compadre as his breath escaped from chapped lips that were desperate for moisture and stinging from the unforgiving Capital heat. The sweltering sun glared angrily upon the dueling pair. There was not a moment of compassion that flickered in its leering eye. 

They had been training since dawn had laid its modest kiss on early skies. Though, neither boy would admit their exhaustion. Ser Aron knew they were both leveled in their effort. “That is enough. Aegon your forehead bleeds into your eye and distracts you from the task. Go on and wash up” the Knight leapt from his seat on the yard and walked proudly to the Prince. He grasped they boy’s chin forcefully between a leathered grip, twisting his face to assess the damage he’d sustained and the wrath he’d surely be enduring for allowing the Crown Prince to tarnish it on the afternoon of his name day celebrations. 

It seemed the nasty gash would require some work from the infirmary and the Knight would need to begin seeking repentance from his wolf mother who’d warned him just that morn not to damage the young boy’s handsome face in the wake of potential brides. 

“I am fine,” Aegon muttered, turning his face from the Knight shamefully. He felt as though the man had called an end to the sparring because he felt the Prince was too weak to continue. “Let us finish, Ser” Aegon replied, raising his sword once more. He nodded to Gendry, beckoning the boy to stand up from the ground he’d exaggeratedly sprawled out upon. “Come on now, Gen...last round”.

Gendry bellowed a theatrical sigh, groaning as he sluggishly rose from his spot on the dirty ground. “Oh, come on, Aegon. Give me a rest, yeah? If I waste all this energy on you, I’ll have none for that pretty little Margaery Tyrell when she galivants through your Castle walls this eve. A little minx, I hear that one is. Smirking devil...oi, wait—I hope you weren’t gunning for her too, Aeg! Well, this is quite awkward then. Alright. We duel for her! I’m up, I’m up!” Gendry smirked devilishly, leaping from the ground. Aegon chuckled slightly, raising his sword in disapproval of his dear friend’s suggestive banter. 

“That is enough—I do believe you were given instructions to not allow my son to ruin his face today, my Ser…” a woman’s voice called from the grand doors to the training grounds. Aegon and Gendry stiffened at the voice they’d learned to know and fear so well. 

Queen Lyanna Targaryen. Mother...

“Your Grace” Ser Aron acknowledged, straightening in his chainmail and bowing his head at once for his lovely Queen. Simultaneously, the surrounding Kingsguard who gave audience to the two boys training straightened and bowed their heads in mirroring respect of the Lady. 

Lyanna smiled appreciatively, dismissing the Guards at once. “Ser Aron, what has happened to my boy’s forehead? That is rather nasty…” The Queen mused, standing before her suddenly rigid and embarrassed son. She frowned, taking his chin gently between her slender fingers. “Aegon, this is training! You and Gendry act as though you two mean to actually kill one another...and what of you, Lord Baratheon?” She released Jon’s face, exchanging her stern, motherly grasp upon the young stag who smiled sheepishly at his adoptive mother. She bit her lip playfully as she fought to keep her face unamused at her constantly jestful son whom she’d gained through war. 

“I head-butt him, Your Grace. I know, I know, cheap, but he was winning!” Gendry whined childishly as he shon the wolf mother an apologetic smile. Lyanna shook her head at the boy, yet her eyes remained full of adoration for him. He was her jestful son, a silver lining in her once storming sky.

“You two were supposed to meet Lady Belton and her seamstresses an hour ago. Now what should I do if your dressings don’t fit?” she turned to her son, her eyes warning and stern. “Aegon, tonight is a very important night and I’ve nearly bankrupt the throne to ensure the celebrations would be grand! My son, every end of this kingdom will be in attendance...From the south, east, west, north—

“Uncle Ned? Will my cousins be coming? will—will Robb be attending?” Aegon suddenly interjected, a mischievous smile creeping upon his handsome face. Lyanna pressed her lips together in failed patience as a small smile began to creep about its seam. She knew what her son was leading to. The woman glanced behind her to a suddenly perky Gendry Baratheon who was eagerly awaiting The Queen’s confirmation as well. She sighed heavily and turned back toward the castle urgently.

“I don’t want to imagine what mischief you three will get up to once my brother and his brood arrive” She paused at the top of the terrace step and turned once more to shoot another grey, warning leer. “Seamstresses. Now!” The Queen warned, her eyes narrowing with discipline she scarcely ever held for the two young men. The Prince and his compadre nodded with sly smirks, sealing their swords for another day but silently promising their return. 

—

Celebratory music played softly within the grand hall. Violins, cellos and other whimsical instruments strummed poetically within the grand hall. It was the most crowded Aegon had ever seen it. Colors, banners, women, men...Many nobles flooded the Keep beyond recognition. 

Jesters danced enthusiastically with humor and jive for Lords and Ladies alike; there was even a luxurious caravan from the foreign lands of Essos holding exotic maiden dancers and mystical performers. The silken, vibrant tents carried women who danced with fire and black smoke and carried ancient magic in their russet veins. Or so they claimed.

The Prince sat quietly upon his own seat, placed comfortably ahead of his Queen mother and King father. He sipped his golden chalice meekly as he bid his guest unenthusiastic welcome. He would not admit it, but he was displeased with his position. Aegon was quiet and reserved; the young dragon was vastly inexperienced at socializing within such grand circumstances. Though, the boy vowed to hold his tongue, for he knew his mother and father had gone to great lengths to throw him the grand celebration; despite it all, he was truly thankful. 

He turned quietly to peer up at his mother who’s smile could barely hold her gentle and slender face. The sight warmed him. His mother had gone to great lengths for her boy. Her first child and the only one she would ever have. Aegon felt his heart quiver at the thought of his mother’s silent strife. 

Aegon began to recall the stories he’d heard of his birth and how he had ripped like a true dragon from his mother’s young, trembling body. How she gave her womanly blessing to birth the infant Prince into a dark room engulfed with the stench of roses and fresh blood. And, he repaid her by severing any chance of her bearing another babe. “You are more than enough” He recalled her sweet voice whispering into the top of his crown as a small boy.

The Prince recalled how he had confined himself to his chambers after stumbling upon a presumed empty corridor of the castle and heard whispers of servants speaking of his mother’s barren body and how the King would never see a Princess born. Lyanna had found her sweet son trembling about stale wool and damp dressings wet from sorrow filled tears. She smiled empathetically, her own eyes gaining moisture as she concealed him in her silken warmth and whispered adorations into his head. The young boy cried for hours contained in his mother’s warmth as he begged her forgiveness for a fate he hadn’t known he caused her. 

But today, Prince Aegon was the guest of honor. He slouched tiredly in his chair, his hand supporting a heavy head that was filled unreasonably with curses of “proper introductions and titles”. His hand twitched impatiently as a Lord made his way to the Prince and bid him his congratulations and well wishes in his days to come. He smiled honestly, truly thankful for the well wish. It was the spotlight that made him wary...

An unknown maiden made her way up the procession line and curtsied before the Prince. She was a dark haired girl with skin riddled in brown freckle and teeth that gaped unrighteously so. “My Lord—Prince,” She giggled nervously, correcting herself quickly once she caught the King’s eye. She bent forward politely for the Prince. Aegon smiled small, nodding in acknowledgment. He watched the way the odd girl bent her budding breast forward, as though to entice the boy. He blushed embarrassingly at the action. Truly, he found little to no appeal in it. He’d seen it all. With Petyr Baelish owning the finest whore-house in the Capital, he’d witnessed his fair share of breast and sultry maidens. 

Lord Baelish regularly made his rounds about the Red Keep, parading whores and temptresses around the castle whenever a noble visitor was within the walls. Queen Lyanna would snort and roll her eyes at the gesture and the King would sigh and wave off the Whore-King’s women. “Politics…” he’d mutter in shared disgust with his wife. Not particularly the King’s taste, but the taste of many of his visitors alike. Business was business outside the castle walls and within. These women Lord Baelish brought about, none of them were taken by the Prince. Aegon had more honor and restraint than that; he was raised by a Stark, after all. Gendry Baratheon on the other hand, had inherited his father’s appetite.

“Aegon, do try to look somewhat pleased with your guest!” Queen Lyanna whispered while leaning forward in her seat. She glanced upon the curtsying guest and women who made their way to bow before their Royals. She had been watching her son for quite sometime in hopes she would witness a slight flutter of his stormy gaze, or perhaps even a twitch in his posture. Anything really that would speak to her son’s interest in the promising maidens who’d present themselves before them. Aegon was not getting any younger and it was time for the young dragon to secure a bride, a Queen, and one day an heir. 

Lyanna had been bombarded with raven after raven in the months preceding Aegon’s name day celebrations. Many potential maiden’s families had written the King and Queen to offer their ripest daughter and shiniest coin. The likes of Margaery Tyrell, a few Frey girls, even Doran Martell had wrote about his eldest daughter, Arianne Martell. Catelyn Stark had written scrawl in hush about a potential courtship of Sansa Stark, her own eldest daughter. “It is not unheard of to wed cousins and you are a Targaryen, afterall…” her parchment wrote.

The Queen sighed deeply, smiling stiffly towards another maiden who had bowed before her and her brood. “He’s bored. His eyes reside on no one! Not even Margaery and she bid Aegon the best introductions. She has been groomed for this by the Queen of Thornes and Olenna wishes to form a tighter alliance with the Crown. Yet, not even the pretty little rose could earn a raise of brow from my brooding son” Lyanna muttered quietly as she took her husband’s calloused hand. 

Rhaegar turned quietly to his wife, his index fingers caressing lovingly the back of her silken, ivory hand. Lyanna smiled quietly in appreciation of his attempt of reassurance. The King knew his wife was concerned of securing an heir to their throne. What with the years that had come in eve of Aegon’s birth, it was only natural the woman was ale in silence of what would become of the country she and her husband had fought so valiantly to create and maintain. And with Viserys being the next in succession after Aegon if her son had no heir...the King shuttered internally at the thought. True madness...

“The night is young, my love” King Rhaegar whispered as he drew his wife’s hand to his lips for a subtle kiss. Lyanna knitted her dark brows in displeasure at the King’s choice word.

“And our son is not. Most men his age have taken a wife and bore their first child by his age. Yes, he is young in right, but days are never guaranteed. Besides, you knew, did you not? When you lay those roses in my lap back at the tourney. You knew” Lyanna whispered, smiling politically once more at another maiden who’d graced her and her family’s presence. “If he knew—”

“He’d likely rise from his seat and leave to find Gendry to tell him tales of his future bride he meant to take,” Rhaegar chuckled quietly at his Queen’s scrunched nose and puckered lip. She did not approve. “As I said, the night is young” Rhaegar leaned across his throne to lay a gentle kiss upon his wife’s cheek. Lyanna smiled small as a modest blush creeped upon her icy cheek. Her heart fluttered as though the two merely existed in absence of the world around them. 

“Uncle Ned!” 

Lyanna and Rhaegar broke apart briskly at the sound of their son’s enthusiasm. A first for the night. The Queen’s grey eyes mirrored her son’s as she followed their lead upon the hall and bustle that had erupted. Her gaze rested upon a sea of red, tousled locks and a few dark haired accompaniments, all doused in grey furs and silks. 

She smiled warmly at the familiar sight; it was her brother Ned Stark and his family. 

King Rhaegar smiled small and nodded, understanding the sudden joy that had overtook his wife and son. Lyanna rose from her seat, her smile once again appearing too wide for the small and modest face she wore. She departed her seat and joined her son who had shone his first smile of the night.

“Ned” she whispered as she approached the Warden of the North. His hand had been firm with grip upon Aegon’s shoulder as he congratulated him on his name day. He watched the young dragon with fatherly affection. Somehow, as the Warden gazed upon his nephew, now a man, he could still see the pathetic babe he had stumbled upon within the Tower of Joy. When he looked upon his sweet sister, his gaze softened into something more recognizable to the Queen. Something familiar, adoring and protective that she had become accustomed to her entire life from the time she was still just a wolf pup of Winterfell. 

“Your Grace” Ned smiled proudly, retrieving his sister’s hand. He kissed it tenderly, brushing his own rough and withered fingers along the smooth surface of her own. He met her eyes once more, his identical grey stare dancing in kinship with the young Queen. How long had it been since they’d basked in one another’s presence? Three years—maybe longer. Each to their own had equally lost count of their moons. Endless scrawls had somehow bid to few in the years that passed, and eventually silence had rested upon the siblings. Of course, not until he had written the Queen and her husband many moons prior to alert them of the deserter he’d executed for abandoning his oath of the Night’s Watch. 

Eddard Stark’s eyes lapped silently over the plains of his sister’s face. He lingered on her eyes, still gloomy, yet full of a wildness that not even the King himself could tame. It was the Stark blood in her and Lyanna was a true northern wolf with little to any docility etched into her wild veins. He believed true that his youngest daughter, Arya, was bred of the same wildness, much to Catelyn’s dismay yet many more to his praise. 

Lyanna rolled her eyes upon her elder brother. “Pleasantries, titles, they stop at once. I am your sister and you my brother. I will hear none of this “Your Grace” or “my Queen”. Catelyn, you look stunning as always. Truly you could not have birthed five children. I’m afraid after merely one child, my skin has lost its luster. Perhaps it never had it. I am a northerner, after all” Lyanna’s lips parted into a teasing smirk as she hugged her sister-in-law. Catelyn smiled small, returning the gesture. The Stark matriarch was appreciative, yet remained wary of the Queen’s words. Lyanna had always been warm and kind but Catelyn would never let pass the truth of who she was now and what that meant to her and her family.

“You are too kind, Your Grace. The southern heat ripens your skin. Even the Gods wither in your presence” Catelyn replied, political kindness dripping from her thin, chapped lips. 

Lyanna smiled at her words, her eyes tentatively washing over her nieces and nephews who had began to approach with the same wariness their mother spoke from. They’d been taught well. “Aunt Lyanna, we’ve missed you” Sansa, now a slender and winter-kissed maiden spoke. Her eyes danced with wonder as she observed her Queen aunt. The young northern girl relished at how lucky her aunt was, her own fantasies of her being a Princess and Queen ransacked her childish mind. A thought, perhaps, yet not completely a vision that was unobtainable. Her mother had bid her whispers of her cousin seeking a wife.

It could be her if she played her cards correctly. At least, that’s what her mother had spoke. Sansa’s eyes flickered silently to the Prince. She had seen him briefly a few moons ago when he’d stopped at Winterfell upon his journey beyond the northern wall. He had been brief, but kind nonetheless. Her hand still tingled in remembrance of the innocent kiss he laid upon her cold hand. She had not forgotten the sensation and thoughts it evoked with it. Queen. Her mind cooed to her hopefully as her flesh began to tremble from the mere thought of Aegon’s lips upon her flesh. 

“And I, you. Look at what you’ve blossomed to; a true beauty. Isn’t she something, Aegon?” Lyanna spoke happily, her eyes turning to her son who was fixated in boyish joy with his eldest cousin Robb and his uncle’s ward, Theon Greyjoy. 

The Prince turned in slight to his wolf mother, sensing a particular tone to her seldom voice. He hated when she’d do this. Why did everything have to be about courtship? Was this not a celebration she hoped the boy would at least enjoy a bit? Jon sighed deeply, cursing the selfish thought. Still, he was honorable and graced the Stark girl with a polite and small smile. 

Aegon gazed upon the girl, taking in the full, thick tendrils of auburn locks that looked soft to the touch. She had the consistent Tully blue eyes that most of his cousins possessed—all but wild Arya. His favorite, between the two young women. Alas, there was only one pair of blue eyes that haunted the Prince…

Her. 

It was not that Sansa was not unpleasant to look at. She was in fact a true testament of northern beauty. Yet, Aegon could not overlook the notion of her being his cousin. That, and she was still innocent and young in his mind. She was ten and seven to be exact. He was reminded at that moment that her name day was not too far away.

Surely his uncle and aunt had received numerous ravens requesting a courtship of the girl, so why had she not been arranged yet? Robb too was a Lord in waiting. He recalled his father mentioning that his uncle had his own marital plans for his boy cousin that did not include Daenerys, despite her being offered as a match from the time they were babes. 

Maybe Sansa wasn’t as young as he assumed. Perhaps it was her naive nature and kindness that made him assume the girl for a child. Besides, a young Lady her age must’ve had her blood by now. She was ripe. His eyes wandered across her body that was wound in pretty blue silks. Yes, they were concealed but evident; small budding breast and slight curvatures of her hip that announced womanhood. What business did his mother mean to enact with this maiden? Aegon cringed internally at the thought of marrying the girl and having to consummate the marriage. Images of her blushing and apologizing profusely for actions she surely couldn’t comprehend doing flooded his conscious. Yes, the act would likely make him feel like one of Petyr Baelish’s old, grotesque male customers. 

Aegon straightened his back and bid the young girl his most polite tone—at least, one he could manage through his irritation. “She grows more enchanting as the years pass her” he answered simply, eyeing the young northern girl. Yes, it wasn’t untrue and Aegon would be a daft liar if he would not admit that his cousin was growing into a fine lady. 

Her smile grew at the Prince’s pleasantries. She shifted nervously from one foot to the other, her lips curving into a modest smile. They were the ripest shade of pink like a freshly yielded strawberry. But were they as sweet? 

Aegon observed the girl discreetly beneath his dark curls as she watched him with increasing anxiety that gave way to her blue pools. Her eyes begged his gaze forward to meet her own. He allowed the intrusion, once or twice. He watched the way her lips would purse and thin at the conversation surrounding them. Every now and then she would chew them defiantly in what the Prince could only assume to be frustration and yearn. His eyes drifted silently to his mother who was chatting happily with the Stark matriarch. Her grey eyes danced with pride and joy as she boasted about the young Prince and his heroic trip beyond the northern wall…

Aegon turned quickly, a slight edge raising beneath his suddenly flushed skin at the mention of his journey beyond the wall. His cousins watched curiously as the young dragon marched forward with impressive urgency back to his lonely seat beneath the Iron Throne. He sat silently, his chin finding solitude once more against the tender flesh of his palm. Aegon’s mind began to sing a sirens ballad to his conscious. It was a song that was as shrill and docile as the northern wind, yet serene and magical like the first flutter of dawn’s frozen dew.

It was her.

“Jon” 

Aegon flinched internally, his head rising at once for the familiar voice the called to him so suddenly. There were only two people that Aegon had ever known his entire life to call him by that name and one of them was surely not present. “Uncle Ned, it is good to see you again, My Lord. I always know it is you who calls to me when the name Jon is used” Aegon smiled, though the gesture evaded his eyes. It was an untrue statement; there was in fact another. Yet, since them, hearing that name only elicited a fire and urgency within his soul that he could scarcely put out. 

Perhaps, he didn’t want to. 

“Why do you call me Jon at times Uncle? Mother tells me it was you who picked that as my middle name on the day I was born” Aegon chuckled and rose from his seat once more to shake the large, calloused hand of his northern Uncle. Eddard Stark smiled small, grasping the young Prince’s hand between his own. His grey eyes mirrored his own, confirming to anyone who’d gaze upon the Prince that he had inherited much of his mother’s wolf blood. Aegon was a true wolf on the outside, yet a dragon within. 

“There was a time when you had just been born and I had just found your mother. We—I didn’t know if she’d make it. She made me promise to protect you and raise you, to hide you if need came. And I imagined what I’d do and what I would say to keep you safe. No one could know who you were. So I decided in that moment with my sister’s blood on my hand and her babe at my arm, just born...that you’d be Jon. My Jon. I’m happy the weather faired differently, lad. But you will always be Jon to me. You will always be a son of my own” Ned spoke proudly, his hand rising to rest at his nephew’s shoulder. 

Aegon smiled affectionately, his gaze fond and soft for his uncle. He loved the Lord dearly and knew from many stories retold over the Prince’s years what he had done for his mother and father. He had lost everything and gained so little that it still bore a sour taste. What was the title of Warden to a father and brother lost? To a dear friend who felt betrayed? Was the fruit bared worth the labor?

“Lord Stark” King Rhaegar spoke solemnly, rising from his throne at the arrival of the Warden. Eddard Stark turned slowly to the silver haired King, his face losing all luster of softness and becoming more firm. The tension began to fill the meek crevice of space the three men occupied. 

There was known tension between the Kingdoms. This was a fact, not an assumption. Yes, King Rhaegar had pardoned the rebelling Houses who had fought Robert’s war, but the bloodshed and siege it brought for the King’s infidelity was scarcely forgotten. Though, Ned remained honorable and loyal to his sister. She was a Stark of Winterfell. For that, the Lord would be civil and fair to her husband, for he was not only the rightful King, but his brother-in-law by blood. 

Aegon wondered at times how his father managed through all the scrutiny. Praised in the light of day, yet mocked and plotted upon undoubtedly at night. The King had surely heard whispers along corridors of the Red Keep and what he did not hear himself, Varys made sure to inform him. There were Houses across the country that bore salt at their mouth for their new King and Queen. Blood unnecessarily shed for love that was not approved. It was a wound that continued to fester over the last eighteen years. 

Many of the loyalist contested the rebelling Houses occasional attendance and permittance within the Capital. They believed King Rhaegar should have banned their presence...barred their Houses, stripped their rights like he had the Lannisters and Baratheons. But the King maintained fairness. He would not punish what he could not prove. All Houses had lost, all had bled. The debts had been repaid. All but some, it would seem. 

“Your Grace. I am honored you have opened your Kingdom to us in sheer hospitality” Ned spoke respectfully, bowing in slight to his King. “I am more happy to see my sister is as beautiful as the day she permanently departed the north and her son is ever the proud sight” Ned glanced endearingly to his nephew who had retaken his seat. He placed a watchful hand at his shoulder. “I see the Crown spared no expense in the celebrations” he winked at his nephew who shook his head disapprovingly in response.

“Of course,” King Rhaegar acknowledged with a nod. “Aegon is but your sister’s pride and joy. Her only. I would expect nothing less. True ye say, she has grown tired of her son’s efforts in thwarting courtship…” King Rhaegar violet glare flickered to his son who sighed heavily at the comment. He was not evading; he simply did not desire it. “Every eligible maiden in the Kingdom is but our guest and her family too” King Rhaegar sat quietly once more at his throne. Ned lowered his head to the King in agreement and thanks. A moment of silent recognition passed over Ned as he suddenly glanced upon Rhaegar. His old brows knit together in mystery. 

“Every maiden?” He questioned curiously, an unfamiliar glint besting his brooding stare. 

Aegon did not dare peer toward the two great men. He knew what his uncle spoke of. What he meant, and whom he meant. He turned away, knowing how this conversation would weather. Aye, it was not a storm he wished to spectate. Instead, the Prince observed a rather intoxicated Gendry Baratheon across the hall who was taken in deep conversation with Margaery Tyrell. 

“You are concerned of the Baratheons and Lannisters” King Rhaegar spoke simply, his grip becoming firm upon his Iron Throne. He eyed the great northern Lord slyly, unsure of what notions he wished to bid forward at his sudden reveal. Rhaegar was fair, not oblivious. He knew how Lord Stark and many of the Loyalist felt about the presence of traitors within their walls. It was arguably more sour for the Warden, what with Robert condemning Ned for not vouching his innocence in the Rebellion. To Lord Baratheon, the Rebels were simply upholding ancient law and doing the noble thing...but there was nothing noble about killing the innocent and Ned made damn sure to tell his once brother otherwise. 

But, It was true. King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna had extended courtesies to all ends of the Kingdom. Even the turbulent and hostile ones, such being Dorne and of course, House Lannister and Baratheon. 

House Baratheon and Lannister since the time of the rebellion had undoubtedly received the harshest consequence of all rebelling Houses. 

Exile. 

The once rich and powerful Lannister’s had lost their seat as Warden in the West, and House Baratheon had lost their title as Paramount of the Stormlands. A majority of the country, fearful of their new King and forever indebted to his graces, had ceased all trades of goods and services with the Houses. At least, under public eye. 

In order to maintain longevity and sustain life to their House, Tywin Lannister married his daughter, Cersei Lannister to Robert Baratheon, solidifying their loyalty through marriage. As for the Lord of Casterly Rock’s sons, the forbiddance of any martial unions remained. Both Houses merged their wealth and debts and began to partake in minimal trade of goods and services with Essos and its cities to maintain the little gold they held that sustained their Houses. Some whispered that Tywin had actually gained wealth in the foreign trade...and perhaps more. 

King Rhaegar was aware of the Houses arrangement between one another and their trade agreement with the Free Cities. However, he did not foresee a need in ceasing the unions. There was no crime being committed and his sanctions were being abided. So long as the Houses remained true to their sentence and did not venture inside the capital or attempt trade with its parts, the King would allow their meager existence to remain until inevitable perish. No heirs would be born to House Lannister and Gendry Baratheon shall be the only heir to succeed Storms End and re-inherit the title of Paramount of the Stormlands thus after. 

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace...but I assumed the exile sentence of the Houses stood. Yet, you invite the people who murdered your babes and wife into your home and our Capital—” Ned Stark began to speak, haste and disbelief dripping from his lips towards the King. 

“The choice has been made, my Lord. I have consulted my wife, your Queen and sister. She too has agreed on their invitation to our city” King Rhaegar began, his stare becoming cold upon his brother by marriage. He was aware of Ned’s concern, even before the old wolf could speak it. But it was a choice that spared purpose he wished to speak of on another night. Not on his son’s name day celebrations. But Lord Eddard Stark was stricken with anger for the revelation. Had he known sooner of who would be in attendance, perhaps his own family’s presence wouldn’t have been permitted on his accord. 

“Yet you have invited Dorne, arguably an equal territory in sheer hostility. Surely Oberyn and his brood will be disre—

The doors on the grand hall lurched open as a ringing of chainmail erupted once more into the celebrations. King Rhaegar and Eddard Stark glanced curiously to the sudden and bold intrusion. 

Rhaegar relaxed, a warm smile sweeping across his pale face. “King Neve and his family have arrived”. Rhaegar stood at once, stepping gracefully from his Iron Throne and dismissing further complaint from his Warden. Edward Stark turned briskly at his King’s words, his grey eyes suddenly wide in astonishment for the words he’d heard but wondered if he’d imagined. 

And when the great Lord gazed forward and witnessed the sea of blue and silver that has begun to seep into the grand hall, It became obvious that he had not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve made a minor revision in increasing Aegon’s age, as well as those similar to his age in the books/show to twenty-two. Everyone gets an age jump as of the last chapter. Happy reading, and thank you for the kudos and commentary I’ve received thus far. :)


	3. Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It may not seem like much, a few kisses in the dark—but it was enough to burn a hole like an ulcer in my heart” —Jean Kwok

Ned Stark could scarcely fathom the sight before his eyes. In all his reign, he had never formally met or been directly acquainted with the King or King’s before beyond the wall. Ned Stark like the many wolf pups of Winterfell bred over its years had heard the tales of the great House and their striking appearance. Old Nan had whispered tales along flickering candles late at night, how House Neve was bred with magic and snow; the blood of Andals mixed with First Men coursed their icy veins. However, Ned Stark now knew the stories served no testament to the man who stood nearly seven feet tall at the end of the procession line. 

The old wolf recalled the rumors of King Neve’s visit many years ago, but even then, the matter was hushed and not spoken of. No one but King Rhaegar had directly spoke with the King. No one, in fact, who was not a Targaryen had ever been permitted such an honor. 

House Neve recognized no southern King whose name was not Targaryen. 

The great Ice Lord had not bid any raven to alert Westeros of his plans to travel south many years ago and when he did, it stirred up quite the ruckus for those who had been in the Capital at the time. 

But why was he here now? 

“King Neve. An honor, Your Grace. How did you convince the man to leave his frozen throne? The Royal House has not ventured beyond the wall in nearly fifteen years” Lord Stark whispered to his brother-in-law as he hurried to meet the King’s pace and remove Catelyn and the children from the procession line. He did not wish to offend the northern King and his brood, for it was vastly unknown this strange man’s temperament. Ned Stark could only assume what actions he would find offensive to he and his family. 

Lord Stark hushed his wife and children as he whispered the news into their ear. Catelyn straightened at once, an edge fierce in her form as she fixed her children to the side and reminded them of their manners and honor. 

This was not a usual celebration, it would seem then. King Neve, the ruler beyond the wall, was in attendance within the neighboring Kingdom. Something was amiss. 

The grand hall fell deafeningly silent as Lord’s and Lady’s lowered their head in respect of the King and his brood. The King’s Guard marched proudly behind the family. Their armor was glistening silver and blue trimmed with a ferocious polar bear crusted in blue sapphire upon their chest and shoulder plates. Fear was present within the hall. The tension ran heavily through the scarcely still folk who dared not move or tremble in the northerners direction. 

All of Westeros knew the ancestral bloodline these northern men carried and loyalty King Neve held for King Rhaegar. It pre-dated ancient times, their allegiance to the southern Crown. King Neve’s ancestor had allied and assisted Aegon the Conqueror in securing his reign, gave his life and people to conquer beyond the wall and he was repaid splendidly for the feat accomplished. 

A separate Kingdom. A loyal Lord could only dream of such an honor. House Neve would rule beyond the wall and continue to aid the Iron Throne in securing and exterminating all threats that it harbored. 

Yet, no one really knew for certain what those threats were or how King Neve maintained order.

Eldor Neve was a large, burly man with hair that was the fairest shade of blonde. So light, it seemed the great King was carrying a halo of snow atop his head. He wore no crown and boasted no gold. The only thing the great man wore that was worth noting was heavy bear pelts as white as winter’s kiss and grey riding pants. On his feet were iron boots and upon his hands iron gauntlets to match. 

His eyes were the most unnatural shade of blue. So much so, they almost appeared to glow hauntingly in the grand hall and mesmerize those who dared to peer upon the King. 

King Eldor and his family walked silently into the grand hall; a sea of blue and silver cascading from the mouth of it as they slowly halted before the Southern King. “King Rhaegar…” A deep, Godly voice spilled from the great man’s lips as he was met by the King in the center of the still room. His eyes were ice cold and precise, sending a shrill upon spectating folk. His presence was divine. It was like the heavens had parted and the Gods themselves had stepped down from their holy pedestal and graced the Red Keep’s walls. 

“King Eldor” Rhaegar greeted, standing as proud and true as his northern counterpart. He eyed the burly man happily. He was not intimidated by the man, for he was a King himself and knew the man nearly all his life. When Robert’s Rebellion had sieged Westeros, the King had offered his army to restore order. Rhaegar, though grateful, politely declined. “I hope the roads were fair to you and your family. Welcome to King’s Landing. How long have you been riding? Perhaps two moons...” Rhaegar spoke solemnly, eyeing the King’s brood that stood silently behind him. They did not move at Rhaegar’s word. 

Rhaegar’s violet eyes trickled to the pale woman with equally fair hair and eyes to match at the King’s side. “Eiris, my Queen, the years have been kind to you. I wonder if you age. Tell me, what is the secret beyond the wall?” King Rhaegar smiled as he bowed and took the woman’s pale hand she presented. Queen Eiris mirrored her husband’s demeanor and appearance. They were kin after all, like their mother and father before them. She was not nearly as tall as the great King, yet she was equally intimidating to those who gazed upon her strange beauty. She was a walking Goddess. It was obvious why maintaining the bloodline was imperative to House Neve. “A tradition and necessity” as the frosted King would say. 

Queen Eiris smiled politely at King Rhaegar’s kindness. She held his hand secure for a moment as her own eerie, blue eyes danced with the King’s violet ones. “Wilding blood” she spoke simply, her smile dissipating from her angelic face. 

King Rhaegar fell silent, his hand going slightly slack within the Queen’s frigid one. Silence besieged the grand hall. It would seem it was not only the King who was taken aback by the northern Queen’s words. The hall had quieted to a swift whisper at the woman’s remark. “A joke, Your Grace. And they say we have the frozen faces” her pink lips curved into a glistening smile that defied the heavens and cast the God’s from their pedestal at which they judged. King Rhaegar smiled kindly, a chuckle erupting from his chest as he lowered his eyes to the floor in embarrassment for his gullibility. 

King Neve boomed a hearty laugh that echoed the hall and soon, a quiet sea of chuckle followed timidly behind. The tension within the hall began to relieve silently as many guests turned back to their ale and food, leaving the two King’s to converse in peace, free of judgement. 

“Forgive my wife, we are many to our own company and she must find some means to entertain herself. I tend me become rather dull by the eves sun. Dark humor—I fear our children have inherited it” King Neve patted Rhaegar at his shoulder, squeezing affectionately. “It has been too long, Rhaegar. You look well. Your wife, a sight as always” Eldor smiled as Lyanna approached quietly with a polite smile. 

Lyanna had been observing the interaction from the side with her brother. Her breath had been shy at her chest, unsure if she should move to stand with her husband. It was her duty, she was aware. But something about the Neve’s intimidated her. She had only encountered Eldor one time in her life, and even then, he unsettled the usually bold she-wolf. “Your Grace” He acknowledged as he bowed and took the Stark woman’s hand graciously. 

“King Neve, we are honored you and your family have graced us with your presence. I was worried you wouldn’t come. With no response to the raven I sent you…” Lyanna began, a teasing glint present within her grey eyes. King Neve chuckled and waved her off empathetically. 

“My apologies, Your Grace. Our Maester’s have been tending to other pressing concerns. With your son having bid us his presence, we were quite tied. Where is the lad? I wish to congratulate him!” King Neve boomed once more, peering happily over Rhaegar and his wife’s shoulder. His eyes searched for the quiet lad he had encountered many moons before. He was fond of him, commending his fierceness and honor for venturing north to begin with. He carried Rhaegar’s bravery and nobility in his veins. Not many would take up such an honor if it were presented. Only those sworn to the Night’s Watch ever dared walk beyond the wall. That, and it was their sworn duty by oath to oblige. Yet still, Frostmore was far off Castle Black’s radar and a place to which they felt scarce hospitality. 

Lyanna turned curtly to her son who was lost in conversation with his own brother, Gendry Baratheon. She shook her head disapprovingly, a small smile dancing across her dark features. “Aegon, King Neve graces our walls. Come bid your courtesies, my son” she called to the jesting boy and his dear friend. 

Aegon glanced upward from his lonely seat beneath the throne, oblivious to all that had transpired. “Did your mother send for you?” Gendry asked curiously, his brows knitted together. Neither boy had been paying attention to the festivities or sheer silence around them. Gendry had been bidding words to his brother’s ear of Margery Tyrell. “Oi, Aegon, is that not King Neve...perhaps, I’ve had too much to dr—

Aegon rose slowly from his seat, his eyes narrowing to decipher the odd scene before him. His eyes rested upon his mother and father at the end of the procession. They were talking and chuckling with someone. It was a large man with hair white as snow... 

He thrust from his seat, standing at once as though Gendry has poured molten lava into his lap. 

King Neve.

“Aegon, what’s the matter with you?” Gendry called after his friend who’s body had seemed to become possessed and erratic. He watched as the the dragon stalked forward slowly, his eyes wide with disbelief. It was as though Aegon were trying to understand some strange, foreign tongue that began to lull to him behind deaf ears. 

Aegon walked slowly to his mother and father who were shaking hands with other people, presumably King Neve’s family. He caught a glimpse of the same fair hair as it flickered into his vision the nearer he got. He squinted his eyes once more to garner a better view of the group. His heart began to race from beneath the proud black and red cloaks he bore. His hands began to sweat profusely, the blood that circulated them becoming wild and hot as he clenched and unclenched them at an erratic pace. His mouth, quietly agape, had begun to suck in shallow but calculated breaths as he attempted to steady himself before he reached the greeted the group of Royals.

Why? Why were they here? 

Did she tell them? 

Were they here for his head?

“Please no,” Aegon thought darkly to himself as he peered closer to the people. He did not care for the fate that would come to him. No, the Prince felt selfish and immoral for what it would do to others. “Not here. Not in front of my mother”.

What had he done? And for what? A taste? No it was more than that. It was an insatiable thirst that he needed to quench. So he did. But, at what cost? 

“...and this is my eldest daughter, Eira. Twin to Eiran…”

Her. 

Aegon’s feet seemed to melt and harden into the ground before him. He could not move. He exhaled a sharp breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding captive in the moments it took to meet his parents and guests. He had wondered if she was there. If she had made the journey or cared to grace his capital with her cold, Goddess eyes and figure.

Of course she had. 

Why shouldn’t she? No—why wouldn’t she? King Neve would never leave the Princess behind, not with the importance it held for her to secure the Crown’s name. Heiress to the Frost Throne. Her womb would bare the next generation of Neve’s that would ascend after her and her brother; they would never risk leaving her behind. Yet, when Aegon saw her, he suddenly wished with every fiber of his soul that she had. 

Curse the Gods, damn them all to hell.

The thirst began to rise at his throat and tingle with yearn. It consumed him, his need. It was like sweet poison, an itch that would never satisfy no matter how many times he’d scratch it. 

“Aegon, good. Come, my boy. I trust you are already acquainted with King Neve and his children. The young Princess Eireena…” Aegon’s father gestured to the youngest Neve with hair tied intricately in a bun atop her head. Her eyes flickered silently to the Prince as she bid him a polite smile that did not linger. Her eyes averted across the room to no particular destination. “...Prince Eiran…” Rhaegar placed his hand lightly on the shoulder of the eldest Neve boy, the only, who stood taller than Aegon, with the same fair hair that was cropped slightly short. His eyes washed smugly over Prince Aegon as he extended his hand forward and shook the Dragon Prince’s. His hand was as cold as his eyes as he muttered his congratulations and bid the Prince a look of utter contempt that shone bright in his eyes. “...and of course, King Neve’s eldest daughter, Prin—

“Eira” Aegon suddenly breathed, his breath hot and blazing his lungs that were reluctant to draw relief. His heart thundered within the cages of his chest as he blinked repeatedly trying to determine whether she was really here or his mind had conjured a lie of her presence to soothe some distant ale he hadn’t realized he still held. 

A sirens call. Taunting and begging, all the same.

It was like the frozen Princess had bewitched the young Prince. Cursed his mind of rational thought and noble conduct. Filth filled the Prince’s mind and swelled between his honorable legs. 

Her.

In all the glory and leverage she held over the Prince.

Eira was looking away from everyone, from the proud King’s and their wives, her siblings...her mind was elsewhere, as always. Never present in the moment she stood from. But when Aegon called her name, she looked quickly at him, shielding the surprise she felt in fear it would be noticed. She knew he’d be here. After all, this whole event was in celebration of him. Still, hearing his voice sent a shiver up her cold spine that many others could not do. She met his eyes swiftly and obediently as though he had called her name countless times before, just like that. Longing, need, anger, disbelief…

Lyanna’s eyes snapped to her son’s as she quickly stole a glance at King Neve who looked equally perplexed at her son. Her eyes shot back to her boy, anxiety rising in her veins as she thought quickly of an excuse to pardon her son’s blatant disregard of respect and addressing the Royal Princess as anything but her birthright title. Damn it all—she had warned him of his courtesies. She grabbed Aegon’s hand suddenly, her lips parting quickly to bid apologies she was unsure would be received by the King and Queen beyond the wall. 

And there it was. The moment her hand grasped her son’s, she felt it. She felt what she had been desperately searching for the entirety of the night as maidens waltzed slowly and sultry to bid her son’s attention. She seen it. What she whispered to her husband moments before, hoping Aegon would show it and would feel it. Something she could celebrate in silence with a gentle squeeze of her husband’s hand. Something that symbolized celebratory union bells and the promise of infant cries and child-like feet pattering her castle walls in good time. Yes, the Stark woman saw it and wished she hadn’t all the same.

The twitch. 

Queen Lyanna jerked her son’s hand discreetly behind her as she quickly managed a clever smile upon her thin lips. “My apologies, Your Grace...my dear son seems to be half way down his chalice by now, since the eve of his celebrations. He meant no offense against the Princess. A mere slip of a tied tongue, isn’t that right my boy?” she turned swiftly to Aegon who was still staring dumbfoundedly at the frozen Princess. “Aegon, my dear…” she began, her smile stiff at her lips as she pathetically attempted to hide her anxiety.

Aegon flinched at his mother’s grasp, but it served its purpose. He straightened and reminded himself of where he was and who he stood before. “My apologies, King Neve. It appears my mother knows me too well, even as a man. Princess Eira. I am happy to see you well and gracing our capital for the celebrations. All of you. Thank you. If you’ll excuse me…” The Prince quickly interjected, finally retouching the reality in which he stood. His father the King eyed him warily as he bid a polite bow and disappeared with questionable urgency out the grand hall’s doors. Lyanna exhaled a breath that had been frightfully clenched between her breast. She peered up at her husband, her eyes warning him of instances the King was already becoming acquainted with. 

“Boys...you can’t control them once the ale touches their lips. It’s the beginning of a lifelong struggle…” Queen Eiris chuckled, patting her own son’s shoulder. She glanced curiously at his face that seemed to be fixated on his sister in sheer malice. The Queen tensed, her own worry seeping stealthy under her cold skin. “Not here, please not now” she thought bitterly, recognizing the disapproving glint in Eiran’s eye. 

He never liked the dragon Prince. Nor was the dragon Prince fond of he.

“Contrary, my Queens. The ale is a delicacy that I do believe is a right of passage for any boy or man. It ripens his tongue, helps him become better acquainted with his taste...in wine, I do mean” a voice spoke from behind the group of Royals. They turned curiously, finding no source for the slick words spoken. “Down here. I’m assuming they don’t have dwarf’s beyond the wall. Do not be alarmed...I rarely bite”.

The Royals peered down meeting the sights of a rather short and impish man with hair as fair and gold as the finest riches. Tyrion Lannister. “Lord Tyrion Lannister. Your family sends you in replace of their House?” King Rhaegar’s violet eyes became as hard as bedrock as he peered ignorantly down at the little Lord. “The first time in twenty years your family receives parchment from their King and they disregard it?” King Rhaegar spoke proudly, his hand brushing warningly upon his hilt. Tyrion’s eyes flickered casually to the King and his Valyrian steel. He took a daunting sip of his wine, swishing it mockingly. A lopsided smile surfaced his strange face. 

“My apologies, Your Grace. My father is across the narrow sea bidding word to Master’s in Pentos. He is a busy man, what with maintaining the longevity of our House for as long as he can...before well, you know, perish. I hope you are not offended” Tyrion mused, smiling up at the dragon King who leered down at him disturbingly. “My apologies, Queen Lyanna, an honor to formally meet you. And you must be King Neve...what with the blue and silver and polar bear boasted on your soldiers armor. An exquisite honor. My father will be sad he missed it. How does the weather fair in the true north?” Tyrion gulped the last of his chalice, his eye scanning the hall for a serving wench with a flagon. 

King Neve cocked a white brow at the smallest Lannister, straightening at once. “Yes, yes, Tyrion Lannister the traitor and murderer’s abomination” He remarked low in his Godly voice. He eyed the little Lord peculiarly. The Frost King’s wife peered at her husband discreetly from beneath her snowy locks. She warily weathered the tone at which the two King’s addressed this strange creature. Even beyond the wall, word was known well of King Rhaegar’s exile of House Lannister and House Baratheon. Yet, she couldn’t quite understand why they had been invited. 

“Yes, that is me; the abomination or imp of Casterly Rock. Either title serves” Tyrion remarked with a dimpled smile as he bid thanks to a passing wench for the refill of his chalice. 

“Where is your brother, Lord Tyrion” King Rhaegar demanded, his eyes scanning the hall for a flicker of more traitorous golden hair. By now, a few of the Royal’s guest had tuned into the King’s hostile stance and body language, and when they seen who was the source of their King’s irritation, a sea of whispers began to spread like quiet wildfire. 

A Lannister in the Capital?

“My brother has chosen to travel with his sister Cersei Baratheon, her husband and their brood. I do believe he had been visiting Storms End for quite some time and opted to depart with them for your wonderful city. They are perhaps a day out, My King” Tyrion replied politely, sipping his chalice once more. He wrapped a stunted arm behind his back and somehow extended his height to meet eye to eye with the King. These Lannister’s were a proud many. And Tyrion, arguably the most slick of them all. He smiled curtly at King Rhaegar and bowed once more. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Graces, the feast looks rather exquisite, a piece no doubt I’m sure was the work of Queen Lyanna. I would love to fill my sore stomach; the ride for Casterly Rock has been long and barren”.

“Of course, Lord Tyrion. Please, help yourself” Queen Lyanna quickly interjected with a kind smile before her husband could remark something drenched in malice and contempt. “Your quarters are but almost ready, I could send for a handmaiden to assist—

“No need, Your Grace. While I am both surprised and humbled that you would so willingly offer me your home, I have been extended courtesy at Petyr Baelish’s brothel and I would feel much more at ease and home there. It is not unknown my insatiable appetite for Dornish wine and whores. Enjoy your evening” Without another word, the little Lord bowed low and disappeared in a proud stroll towards the feasting tables, his hand still tucked confidently away behind his little back. 

“My children, our journey has been long as well. Go and mingle with the Capital guest and wet your appetites. Your father and I will send for you soon enough” Queen Eiris spoke kindly, stroking her eldest daughter’s silken hair. Eira turned coldly from the affectionate gesture and walked quietly towards the other guests who were dispersed throughout the grand hall. “Eiran,” Queen Eiris whispered just as her son passed her. “Mind your sister’s and behave. You are a guest” She warned, never quite meeting the arrogant Prince’s cold, blue eyes. 

Prince Eiran scoffed, glaring coldly at his wary mother. “I am no guest. I am a Prince. My presence is but a gift to these peasants” He spat, venom dripping from his pale lips. He eyed his Queen mother ominously for a moment longer, sending a chill of uncertainty up her spine. She exhaled slowly, her eyes closing in fear they’d display the worry she carried in her heart whenever Eiran became irate.

King Eldor turned curtly to King Rhaegar, his white brow cocked intriguingly. “Are the Lannisters and Baratheons meant to be entertainment, Your Grace? Perhaps you mean to behead them all and serve their heads as table settings?” The man roared with laughter as he patted his wife’s back. However, she did not join in on his jest. A chill of uncertainty crept upon the icy woman’s back. What was the meaning of this?

“No, my King. They are merely guests to the Capital” King Rhaegar answered simply. He met Eldor’s eye with firmness, permanently ending the banter that surrounded the two hostile Houses attendance. King Neve ceased his laughter as he returned the King’s peculiar stance. 

“What is the meaning of this, then? You invite people who wish to kill you in your sleep to your home? Perhaps you have had beds made for them all, too? An easy murder on you” King Neve spoke accusingly to the Dragon King. He sighed heavily, glancing around him to the guest who eagerly watched the two men spar with words. “You will explain this stupidity to me at once, Rhaegar. But not here, let us find a study to speak...you better have a good ale for this one, my King. One that lasts the night” he smirked once more, patting Rhaegar’s shoulder. 

“Of course, my King. I have requested the freshest and sweetest Dorne berry. Come. There is much to discuss between us all…” without another word, he steered the northern King and Queen toward the hall doors in search of privacy. What with Varys and Baelish lurking his corners, he knew he would have to be smart about where he spoke. The group of Royals departed the hall discreetly, effectively releasing the tension they bore around them. 

The music and cheer returned slowly to the grand hall at the Royals departure. Men and women began to dance and celebrate the Prince once more as many nobles frolicked happily with another. But the guest of honor was not there to spectate the merriment in his name. 

Aegon stood outside upon the highest tower’s terrace of the Keep. His hands gripped the railing of the balcony he stood from anxiously. His eyes were shut tight in concentration as he took sharp breaths to steady his suddenly racing heart. 

She was here. 

Aegon’s eyes flew open once more as he glared down at the city beneath him. A distant hum or music and laughs drifted quietly into his ear from the hall beneath him. He sighed deeply, sucking in another wary breath. The night was still from where he stood. He concentrated on the quiet rhythm of a cricket that was somewhere near. 

Her.

His eyes closed once more as he felt his chest begin to swell in familiar heat. Even with his eyes shut, he was granted no relief in the darkness of his mind. All he could see was her eyes in his conscious. Her pretty, glowing blue eyes with fair lashes that could make a child’s doll envious. Her plump, pink lips...full of temptation and sin.

Sweet, sweet sin. 

He felt the menacing thirst come back with a vengeance. His throat began to burn once more as her image ransacked and sieged his mind. What was this witchcraft? He was a man consumed by dark desire and lust for the northern girl. He wanted her—no, he needed to possess her. 

Again. 

He pushed away angrily from the balcony, retrieving his chalice from the ground near his boot. He hesitated, yet slowly drew the ale to his lips in haste. He secretly hoped he could become drunk enough to forget this strange thirst he held for the girl. But, he knew better. The ale could never suffice. It never had.

What started as mere stolen glances of intrigue at Frostmore had transpired to something more—something more dark and dangerous than he would have ever imagined. 

The first time he saw her, he had been taken aback. He was never formally introduced to the woman when he had rode through Frostmore’s great, steel gates and oak drawbridge. The only people awaiting he, Gendry and his men were King Neve and the Crown Prince. 

The courtyard was a quiet bustle of pale people who peered curiously upon the visitors. Rarely did the King entertain guest beyond his walls. But Aegon and his militants were not just any guests, they were allies. King Neve was happy and overly welcoming, speaking courtesies and affection for the lad. He whispered many times throughout his long visit how much Aegon reminded him of his King father. 

They broke bread together nearly every night, unless the King was too consumed in his own Kingdom's affairs to be present. A few times, the Queen had joined, too. Even Eiran and Eireena attended some nights and days to meal with the Prince and his friend. 

But never Eira. 

It was chance that he had stumbled upon the maiden. It was perhaps the end of Aegon’s first moon at Frostmore when he first seen the girl. He caught her curvaceous figure from behind a frosted window that overlooked the Keep’s private courtyard. It was in the middle of one of the worst storms Aegon had witnessed during his travels across the north. Worse than anything he’d seen at his time spent at Winterfell or Castle Black. 

He gazed outside the window, admiring the frozen dew that raged so angrily around the castle, he could scarcely make out the buildings he knew surrounded it. He had sipped his wine quietly, enjoying the gentle crackle of the firewood a servant had lit before he had arrived in his quarters. 

The private courtyard was becoming increasingly covered in a blanket of fresh snow, as strange weirwood trees swayed back and forth angrily against the north’s might. That’s when he caught his first glimpse of her. At first, it startled him to see someone standing outside in the middle of the great storm. Aegon had to look twice just to be sure that his eyes were not playing a trick upon him, or that he had had too much of the King’s special ale he’d sent for the Prince.

But it was true—someone was there. 

Her. 

Aegon slowly placed the glass down, squinting to make out the figure. It took a moment for his eyes to navigate the angry snow squall, but when he did, he gasped. 

It was a girl, standing quietly beside a weirwood tree that’s face was twisted in permanent agony. But, that was not what had unsettled him so. He stared for a moment, realizing that the girl was only wearing a small nightdress and barefooted. 

Aegon placed his glass down and snatched his furs as quickly as he could from his bedside chair. It must’ve been a mindless wench or girl sick with northern craze to be standing out so ill-prepared for the winter night. 

Aegon hurried down the winding steps of his quarters, his feet echoing as they hit the eerily quiet cobblestone floors of the castle. He snatched a torch from the wall beside the doors that led to the courtyard. He thrust the great doors open and was immediately hit with the ravenous northern wind that instantly put out the torch he held. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the unforgiving snow that began to siege the Prince the moment he stepped outside into the courtyard. He squinted, searching for the crazy woman who he’d seen a moment before. 

But no one was there. 

Confused, the Prince glanced around the blurry, white yard but came up short. It was empty. No one was there…

Had he imagined the girl? Perhaps it was a mere trick of the eye played upon from the northern storm. Confused, Aegon turned back to the castle and retreated once more to his quarters. He emptied his chalice out the window, deciding in that moment that he likely had had too much that night. 

However, the next evening, after returning to his quarters from meeting with the King to discuss an isolated Wilding camp that needed investigating, Aegon seen the mysterious maiden again. And like the night before, Aegon rushed down the tower stairs and through the quiet halls until he reached the familiar courtyard door. He thrust it open and again, was met with deafening silence and the presence of no one. 

Night after night, Aegon would return to his quarter’s window and see the same strange girl with Snow white hair. She never moved. She was always staring off into the frozen oasis, never wavering or flinching against even the hardest wind. Eventually, Aegon learned his lesson and stopped running to the courtyard to see if she was in need. She was never there when he’d open the doors. So, instead, Aegon took up a habit of watching her every night. Rain, hail or snow, she would be there in the center of the courtyard, her hair swirling around her naked shoulders as though the snow was speaking to her. 

The habit of watching the mysterious girl had begun to possess the Prince. It was as though a strange, serenade had begun to hum to him every night, beckoning him to find the frozen beauty. The routine was beginning to consume the Prince as his need and curiosity to find the girl at the center of the yard began to get in the way of him fulfilling his duties. There were times Aegon would be held up late in the King’s council room, discussing battle strategies with the man and his generals and he would grow impatient to leave. What if he missed her? He wouldn’t allow that. He’d often excuse himself early, claiming ill or fatigue and hurry as fast as he could to see if she would make her nightly appearance. 

And, there she was. Never disappointing. 

One night, Aegon returned to his quarters from a mission outside Frostmore’s walls. His hair was slick with wet and ice as he’d trekked back to the castle through another frightening snow storm. He shrugged his armor off, beginning to unfasten the strings of his tunic as he was eager to lose the damp and cold cloths, when he seen her once more. But this time, she faced him in the yard. It was like she were peering through the frosted window directly into the Dragon’s eyes. He jumped, startled to witness the woman staring so intensely toward him. Could she see him? 

Aegon grabbed his sopping wet furs and threw them hastily over his shoulders once more. Without a second spared, he flew down the tower stairs like he had countless night before and darted down the usually quiet hall. Without a moment of hesitation, he pushed the doors open and nearly lost his breath at what he saw.

Her.

She was so close, if he took a few steps forward and reached his trembling hand out, he could finally touch her and confirm that she was actually there. She faced away from him again like she always was, her eyes beyond the moment she stood in. 

His breath halted as he took his first step. The snow crunched loudly beneath his boot as he raised his hand to shield the scrutinizing snow that pummeled him alongside the even more defiant wind. Her hair whipped around her in the wind silently, but she did not move like always. Her shoulders were exposed and bare in a nightdress that scarcely concealed her womanly glory. Her skin flowed milky and white under the northern moonshine. Aegon felt his heart quicken as he approached her closer.

He stopped quietly, mere steps away from the girl. This was it—she was really here. He paused for a moment, unsure of his actions. What would he say? Better yet, what would she? He began to still in his nerves, his mouth going dry for an unknown reason. The Prince exhaled an icy breath he hadn’t realized was trapped behind his chest. His mind begged his voice forward as he mustered the strength to finally speak. “Excuse me, my Lady...are...are you alright?” His voice was swallowed by the northern wind’s roar and he wondered if she’d heard him. He hesitated, but extended his trembling hand out to touch her shoulder and bid her attention. 

The moment his calloused fingers touched her skin, he felt something. It startled him. A strange heat built in mere seconds and combusted all the same within his chest as his mind drew blank instantly. His heart clenched and eyes widened as a mysterious shiver surged through his suddenly frozen body. 

The angry winter storm ceased in an instant as though it were never there. 

Silence fell between the two as Aegon glanced around him to the strange scene in bewilderment. What was the meaning of this? 

And then, she turned. It was like time stood still for Aegon as he finally got the opportunity to gaze into the siren’s eyes who had been calling to him every night since he’d arrived at Frostmore. She had the same hauntingly blue eyes that King Neve and his family had. It did not take long for Aegon to realize that she must have been the King and Queen’s eldest daughter, twin to Eiran, they spoke of. He recalled the Royals excusing her absence in meeting the Prince, claiming she was gravely ill.

But, she looked just fine. More than that, actually.

She stared at Aegon coldly, her eyes never blinking or softening for the intruder who’d invaded her space. Aegon watched her in awe of her beauty. Her eyes were angelic, despite the contempt they held for him in that moment. Her lips were deliciously plump, yet pressed thin in annoyance. Her hair was silken and wet, cascading down her back and across her dewy shoulders. In only seconds, Aegon had memorized every freckle, no matter how little there’d been, on her pretty face. “I'm sorry if I’ve disturbed you—

“Why do you keep watching me?” The woman suddenly interjected before Aegon could speak. He was taken aback at the sound of her voice; it was even more angelic than his fantasies had conjured. He stared at her aweingly for a moment before realizing she had asked the Prince a question. 

“I apologize…” he hesitated, forgetting her name for a moment. 

“Eira,” She muttered impatiently. “Are you going to answer my question, Prince Targaryen?” She mused once more, stepping forward for the first time since he’d invaded her. Aegon straightened, taking a unconscious step back from the woman. He was still very uncertain of her and wary of her hostility. 

Perhaps this was not a noble idea after all. 

“My name is Aegon. Aegon Jon Targaryen” He replied simply, correcting the woman. His eyes narrowed in peculiarity as he watched her face soften in recognition of his words. She was truly beautiful, though the Prince was wise to keep the observation to himself. He knew better. Besides, he was only at Frostmore for one purpose and would be best to stick to his duty. He vowed to allow this to be the only time he’d steer outside his obligations. He just wanted to know who she was. 

And now he knew. So, he could leave.

Yet, his foot would not lift from the snow he stood within. 

His eyes drifted downward to see she was once again barefoot. Upward, they travelled registering her lack of dressings for the storm that had been churning a moment before. Where had it gone so quick? “Eira—Princess, you are not nearly dressed for this weather. I can escort you—

“I am more than adapt for this weather, Prince Targaryen. Thank you for your concern. You can return to your quarters” Eira dismissed turning away from the Prince once more. Aegon stared in confusion after the woman. He knew he should simply heed her word and leave her be, but he couldn’t. It was dishonorable, if anything else to leave a maiden so helpless and at the north’s mercy. 

But something in the Prince whispered to him she would be just fine fairing against it. “My Lady” he acknowledged, retreating against his better judgement. He turned curtly toward the castle and marched back to the great doors that held the courtyard. He opened the door quietly and entered the Keep. Before he closed it behind him, he peered over his shoulder once more and was surprised to find that the Princess was no longer there. Tiredly, he closed the door and retreated to his quarters for the night to ponder his recent encounter with the strange northern girl. Sleep scarcely took the young dragon that night. 

The next morning, she was present to break fast with her family. “Eira, you are feeling better, my sweet?” Queen Eiris remarked happily as her daughter took her seat at her brother’s side. Aegon’s eyes lifted quietly from his plate as he peered at the woman from under his dark curls. Gendry Baratheon was present this morning as well, and nudged the Prince underneath the table. 

Aegon glanced quietly to his friend who was gleaming at him in a mischievous way. “Good Lord, look at her…” he whispered to the Prince who did not waver at his lustful words. Instead, the Prince returned to his meal and ate it silently with his head low and avoiding of the Princess’s blue eyes. He could feel it though, her penetrating gaze on his face as he ate and sipped his ale. He pretended not to notice, but he could feel it. Her gaze beckoned to the Prince from across the table but he knew better than to meet it. The King was present. King Neve spoke of the day’s mission to he, Gendry and his own son. Somewhere between the ramblings, Aegon glanced forward to see if Eira was still fixated on him.

And sure enough, she was. It startled him for a moment how precise and firm her eyes held upon the Prince. He looked away, turning back to her father who was still speaking to he and the other men present. 

After a few minutes, The King rose and his family, too—all, but Eira who pushed her porridge about her bowl. Gendry rose and Aegon placed his fork down, despite not finishing his meal. “Aegon, finish your meal. You will need the sustenance for the day’s journey. We are venturing deep into the valley today where my men have informed me of a rogue wildling settlement. Meet us in the council room once you have finished” King Neve spoke firmly, patting the Prince’s back as he passed him. 

The group of Royals and Gendry dissipated from the feasting hall, leaving Aegon and the mysterious Neve girl alone. 

Aegon ate his food quietly, never peering forward to check if the woman was still watching him. He didn’t have to; he could feel it, her eyes on him. “Good morning, Princess” Aegon replied mechanically, never lifting from his plate. The room fell still and quiet as Aegon continued to eat. He wondered if she were even there, or perhaps she had left him to look like a daft fool rambling to himself. Cautiously, he glanced upward to find the girl still there and staring harshly upon him. He mirrored her eyes, his own brooding glare fighting her cold one for dominance. 

“Jon” She acknowledged after a drawing moment. She lowered her head once more to her bowl, stirring the now cold and clumping meal aimlessly. Aegon furrowed his brow at her choice word in greeting him. Still, he did not correct her. It was his name, afterall. 

“Should I expect to find you half naked outside my window in the middle of a storm again, Princess?” Aegon muttered plainly, never meeting the woman’s eye. The quiet ring of her spoon aimlessly scraping the bottom of her bowl ceased at his comment. Aegon continued to eat his food, unsure for a moment if his choice in commentary would be perceived as crude. He instantly regretted the jest.

“Would you rather find me half naked in your quarters?” Eira replied simply. 

Aegon’s head raised suddenly at the woman’s reply. He straightened in his seat, dropping his fork in his plate. He was not done his meal but he knew this exchange was venturing into indecent territory. He knew better. He rose from his seat, never replying to her suggested remark. “Good day, Princess” he replied calmly, gathering his furs from the seat beside him. Without another sparing glance or clever word, he departed the hall, leaving the woman to her thoughts. 

She never glanced at him as he passed her. 

And so began the strange and tense interactions between the pair. Eira’s presence was more frequent within the castle, much to Aegon’s dismay. Still, he took quiet satisfaction in the few stolen glances he’d be granted occasionally. Their words were always brief and strained. He’d acknowledge her presence and she’d bid him the same courtesy and continue on her way. After a few weeks, her acknowledgments changed from “Prince Targaryen” to “Jon”. Aegon never minded, despite his remaining confusion at her choice words. Still, he remained respectful and honorable. 

One night, Aegon remained in the feasting hall late looking over a map of the north that King Neve had provided him. He was mapping out wildling camps that had been raided by his army and ones he still needed to investigate. The doors to hall creaked quietly, announcing the presence of another in the room. “My apologies, I am nearly finished in here” he called to the presence, drawing a line between two points on the map. A thud came from the table as something was placed upon it. A chair screeched as it was pulled out and then pushed back in. 

“What are you doing?” The angelic voice that had been etched into the Prince’s mind spoke from darkness across the table. Aegon lifted his head quietly, meeting Princess Eira’s cold eyes. They were harsh on him once more, as always, whenever she greeted him. He relaxed for a moment, dropping his quill. He straightened, leaning back in his chair to gaze clearer upon the girl. She was dressed in another scant nightdress. His eyes flickered to the wine glass delicately held between her slender fingers and another that was empty beside a flagon. He tilted his head to the side, curious of her intent. 

“Mapping camps for tomorrow’s trek. What of you? Warming yourself with some wine before you step out into the cold once more?” He remarked accusingly, nodding at her wine at hand. 

Eira smirked, displaying for the first time any emotion besides the permanent scowl her face usually held. “Are all the men full of wit south of the wall?” She replied simply, sipping her glass. Aegon turned back to his map, ignoring her question. “My presence irritates you” she spoke once more when her comment went unanswered. 

Aegon peered across the table, meeting her eyes. He exhaled deeply, leaning back in his seat once more. Eira never broke his gaze, her own holding a quiet contempt she refused to speak of. “I am but a guest in your home and honored by it, to say the least” the young dragon replied as he calmly placed his hands upon the table. He eyed the empty wine glass at her side. “Have you come to poison me? I get the feeling my presence is not welcome in Frostmore” Aegon replied boredly, watching the Princess for a sign of confirmation to his assumption.

“Eiran doesn’t like anyone. You’re not special, Prince Jon” Eira spoke casually, taking another sip of her wine. 

“And you? I get the feeling you share more than just features with the Prince. At least, the way you glare upon me throughout the day confirms so. Yet, you come and bid me wine. I would be a fool to drink it” Aegon spoke skeptically, nodding towards the glass flagon. Eira smirked once more at his words, pausing before throwing back the last of her wine. She reached for the flagon and poured out another glass of bright red liquid. She paused, smiling as she brought it just under her nose. 

“I can smell the hemlock in it. A silent killer” She smirked small once more, inhaling dramatically over the glass. She eyed him curiously, enjoying the intrigue and irritation his eyes held for her. She took a small sip, licking her lips seductively after. “See? Perfectly safe. Please, have a glass, dear Prince” she mused tauntingly. She poured the empty glass nearly full and rose from her seat. The screech of the chair against the stone floor cut into the tension that filled the hall and space between the two. 

Slowly, she walked around the table to the Prince, her eyes never breaking from the strained contact they held on the Prince’s own. Aegon watched her in concealed curiosity. Her hips swayed gently as she walked and undoubtedly exaggerated her step to mock the Prince. She stopped at his side, leaning across his chest to place the glass in front of him. Aegon stiffened at the gesture as he realized in that moment that she was as close to him as she had been moons ago when they’d had their first encounter. Her hair, long and silken, brushed his cheek as she reached across him. He was engulfed in the smell of fresh pine and sweet grass; a scent he knew would forever be branded in his mind. 

She straightened as she placed the glass down, turning to him once more. Aegon met Eira’s cold, blue eyes skeptically as his sight flickered between her and the wine. For a daring moment, he couldn’t decide which taste he was more curious of—she or the wine. He cursed himself silently for the indecent thought, chalking it up to the mental exhaustion of playing these mind games with her. 

But there was something more than that at play here, unknown to the Prince. 

“Go on, take a sip” Eira encouraged, extending a single slender finger to push the glass tauntingly in the Prince’s direction. She brought her own glass to her lips, beckoning the Prince to mirror her actions. 

Aegon stared boredly at the woman once more, unamused at her sarcasm. She was truly maddening. Yet, there was something more there that he couldn’t quite understand. Something that egged him on in searching for her cold, resentful eyes each day he walked the castle. He was subconsciously always searching for them. Always eager to share a contempt filled glare with her. It was madness.

He lifted the glass slowly and drew it under his nose where he inhaled the scent. He didn’t fully trust the beauty. Why should he? All she ever did was stare at him with icy daggers all day long. Perhaps this was her plan all along. Corner him, seduce him...poison him.

Eira scoffed at his action, sipping her wine once more. Aegon stiffened and then released, bringing the wine to his lips for a quick taste. 

It was sweet—maybe the best berry he’d ever tasted, though he wouldn’t allow his reaction to surface and credit her. He took a moment and then brought the glass once more to his lips for a deeper indulgence. Eira laughed, lowering her own glass. “You know, they say us northerners beyond the wall are immune to poisonous herbs like hemlock. We’ve been ingesting it since the Golden Ages...you southerners though...perhaps not as well acquainted” she spoke simply, placing her empty glass down beside the Prince’s hand. 

Aegon lowered the glass, pondering her words. He met her gaze, exchanging an indifferent look with her. “Do you normally taunt your father’s guest this way?” He sipped the wine once more, enjoying the warmth it bid him. 

Eira pursed her plump lips and then drew them between her teeth. She smirked quietly, her eyes peering down at the Dragon Prince coldly. “Sometimes. The wine makes them more submissive to my desires…” Eira mocked, taking a seat on the table before the Prince. Aegon straightened immediately, looking away from the Princess’s legs that had suddenly exposed from under her nightdress as she sat. He pushed back from the table, unwilling to continue this conversation with the woman. He knew she was taunting him and he would have no parts in her mind games any longer tonight.

“It is getting late, Princess. I should retreat to my quarters for the evening, I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow...good night” He rose quickly from his seat before she could reply with another clever word. 

Eira smirked quietly at the boy, her eyes averting across the hall. “Of course. Have a goodnight, Jon”. 

“And you, Princess” Aegon quickly left the hall, his indecent thoughts nearly drowning him from the moment he had stood at. He departed the room, never sparing a glance at the Princess he had left behind. He marched with impressive urgency back to his quarters, sighing in relief as his door shut behind him. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding in her presence, his chest hot and filled with something he has never felt so intensely before. He cursed under his breath, feeling the spot below his belt where his breeches were begin to cling ever tight. He undressed quickly, splashing water on his face from his bedside bowl as he prepared to turn in for the eve and rid himself of his heinous thoughts. 

He paused, running his hands over his face tiredly as he cursed the festering curiosity that had begun to whisper to him. 

The window. 

He inhaled deeply, becoming frustrated with himself and his weakness that called him to the quiet sill. Slowly, he stalked forward, wiping the condensation from the frosted glass. He sighed deeply. 

There she was, standing in the snow and staring off into the distance as usual. 

Every night after had become the same. Eira would find Aegon somewhere within the castle where he’d go to escape the bustle of its inhabitants and plot his missions to come in silence. She’d walk in, sometimes dressed decently, most times not, wine in hand, sometimes for one but most times for two. He’d become so use to this routine that he stopped looking curiously to see who’d impeded on his solitude. 

It was her. It was always her. 

He’d sip the wine she’d sometimes offer, silent still as he mapped his coming days. She didn’t mind. She would sit across from him from wherever he sat, watching his hand as he scratched urgently upon parchment. Some nights, she’d speak. Most nights, she’d simply remain quiet, offering only a sarcastic word and glare before departing for the night once more. 

But eventually, she spoke more often than not. And slowly, as the days and eventual moons passed on, her seat across from him would draw closer and closer, until she would confidently enter whatever room he possessed and sit directly beside him. Her eyes would be narrow and brows knit in confusion as she attempted to make sense of his poorly drawn symbols on the map. She would pour her wine and then his, remembering he only liked his chalice filled halfway. So noble. And then, she’d sit in silence for the remainder of her time there. Aegon was silent too, not willing to admit that her presence had become comforting and something he looked forward to each night. 

He yearned it. Truly, he always had. From the first day he saw her to the day he’d touched her cold, smooth shoulder, he had been entrapped. 

And the Prince was vastly unaware just how deep the Princess had dug her mysterious clutches into him. There was more at play here; more at stake than they both could comprehend. 

The next morning, Aegon and his Guard had departed on their own without the assistance of King Neve’s army and much against his advice. The King had warned Prince Aegon that there was a storm brewing far worse than any he’d experienced since traveling south. But Aegon did not heed his warning. There was work to be done and he knew his days were slowly running out in Frostmore. He did not wish to return to his father without valuable intel...worse, he was worried if he did, what his father would say and what his people would think. 

So he departed against the King’s advice and did not return for several days. The north was pummeled with the worst ice storm that it had ever seen. The King cursed the Prince’s stupidity and commanded his Guard to prepare a rescue mission once the eighth day had passed with no word from the Dragon Prince. 

But on the night the King meant to depart, a sea of black and red began to cascade over a far hill. 

Prince Aegon was alive. 

Aegon limped through Frostmore’s gates, his armor cracked and terribly frayed from enduring the terrible storms that had passed through the mountains. The King met Aegon as he burst through the castle doors, his cheeks red from frost and hair wet from a light dew. “Seven hells, Aegon...I thought you were dead and I’d have to send your parents a dreadful raven. Squires! Get my boy some ale and out of that blasted, frozen chainmail!” King Neve boomed, causing the shocked and spectating squires to flinch. They quickly rushed to the Prince who raised his hand in halt.

“I am fine. Gendry...we are fine. I will undress myself. Gather the council, I need to speak with you all on what we found...the matter is urgent, it cannot—

“That matter will be taken up tomorrow after we break out fast. Rest, boy! You are a King in the making, Aegon. Not many southerners would’ve survived the storms that have passed while you trekked. It is the northern blood in you...rest in your quarters. We will speak in the morning” King Neve announced, patting Aegon’s shoulder. Aegon sighed, nodding in submittance. He would not argue with the Frost King. 

No matter how urgent the matters were...

Aegon walked heavily to his chamber, a trickle of water following him as the snow and ice melted within the warmth of the castle. He walked slowly to his chamber, throwing the door open tiredly. 

He paused, his eyes narrowing in surprise of what he saw.

Her. 

Eira leapt from the Prince’s bed she had been sitting on. “I—I thought you were dead” she breathed, her eyes harsh and accusing of the Prince. He stared into her eyes, recognizing the quiet resentment they held. 

She was worried. His eyes softened on her. 

Aegon closed the door quietly, never breaking his gaze on the frustrated beauty. She inhaled angrily, her eyes defiant on his figure. “You might be the stupidest, pig-headed, cunt I’ve ever met,” she spat venomously at Aegon. “You think because you’re a Prince you know this country? This north? You know nothing. You risked the lives of your men! And for what? For pride? Glory? You stupid, little cunt” She nearly shouted, pointing a finger in Aegon’s direction. The Prince watched her silently, never taking his eyes off her. He soaked in the sight of her cruel, blue eyes and luscious white hair...her curving body and milky skin. 

And that mouth. That vile, filth spitting, perfectly plump mouth. 

He had taken for granted what her presence had meant to him in these passing moons. 

He watched as her nostrils flared at his silence. She glared angrily at him, never breaking then venomous gaze that held him hostage. He shrugged off his furs tiredly and next his chainmail, allowing it to clank loudly as it hit the floor. All the while, he never broke eye contact with the angry woman. His fingers lifted to his tunic as he began unfastening the strings slowly, his eyes silent and still on her own. “Your arrogance is repulsive. You are repulsive. You are not fit to be a King one day...Gods help the people who will one day live under your stupid fucking rule” Eira spat once more. Aegon successful unraveled his ties and slowly drew the tunic over his head, revealing his chiseled chest that was riddled in fresh, poorly healed wounds. 

But Eira did not flinch or weep at his feet for the sight. She scoffed, shaking her head at the view. “Look at you...butchered like the pig-headed animal you are. So stupid. So, clueless and selfish! You are the worst shit in all of Westeros, Aegon Jon Targaryen!” She yelled once more, watching as the Prince had begun to take slow, careful steps towards her. His eyes were blank and unphased at the treachery she spoke to him. 

He met her finally, and leered down at her. She stared up into his eyes, her anger trembling into something more recognizable to the Prince. Her chest heaved angrily as she glared into Aegon’s grey eyes, her lip caught harshly between her teeth. Finally, after a pressing moment, she exhaled the hot and raging breath she held, her voice barely above a whisper. “...I thought you were dead...you stupid, little cu—

“I missed you too” Aegon suddenly interjected, his great hand rising to grasp the woman behind her head and tangle within her silken tresses. He forced her roughly against his lips, consuming her in one fluid motion. Eira gasped into the kiss, the sound coming out alongside an agonizing moan into Aegon’s mouth. Her hands flew from her sides with impressive urgency as she grasped and dug her nails into Aegon’s arm, desperate to touch and consume him. She thought she’d never feel him again. Aegon’s tongue moved hungrily into her mouth, lapping up the flavors he so desperately craved. Eira moaned into the kiss once more, pushing herself against Aegon in attempt to feel closer than they already were.

She brushed his erection that was not modest about where it wanted to be. It poked and prodded at her womanhood that hid quietly beneath her nightdress. Her hand slipped with ease between the two as she grabbed hold of him aggressively through his pants. He groaned, feeling her tug him from his breeches and stroke his cock possessively. “Please, please…you stupid, stupid man...” she whimpered, rubbing him harder and faster as though to persuade him more to do what the Prince already meant to accomplish.

Aegon broke their fevered kiss, picking the woman up with ease and slamming her on top his bedside table. Eira pushed the contents of his desk to the floor, reaching desperately for Aegon. She pulled him to her, consuming his lips in another heated kiss. Her scent poisoned him and he inhaled it willingly as though it were the purest air. Aegon grasped the woman’s hips, thrusting her to the end of the table and pushed her nightdress up in one fluid motion. 

He groaned at the sight of her, pleased to find she was not wearing any undergarments. He dropped to his knees before the girl, forcing her legs apart and grasping her hips to pull her forward. He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent. It was intoxicating. He kissed roughly along her inner thigh, nipping lustfully the soft, tender flesh. Eira moaned softly in response, her hands tangling in the Prince’s curls as she attempted to compose herself. Aegon licked the crevice of her groin, earning a jolt of the woman’s hip in anticipation. He brushed his lips along the already soaking and sensitive folds of her femininity, earning another delicious whimper. He passed his tongue slowly across her womanhood, separating her warmth as he did so. He mimicked the action once more, this time deepening his kiss on her wetness. He groaned, relishing her sweet taste.

Eira cried out in relief and delight of the sensation Aegon drew from her. “Oh, Jon, oh…” she murmured, her hips nearly leaving the table at every flick of his tongue. He squeezed her hips roughly and circled her precious little mound, sucking tenderly upon it. She cried out once more, her fingers tugging desperately at his dark hair. She moaned and writhed in pleasure against Aegon’s face as he lapped at her cunt like a man starved. He paid close attention to the noises she was making and breaths she drew as direction. She was close, he could sense it and feel it from how wet she were becoming. She began to move her hips against his face, desperate for the friction his mouth provided. She began to pant and moan uncontrollably, her hips leaving the meager table as her peak nearly arrived. Suddenly, the Prince withdrew. 

Eira exhaled the fevered breath that had been building at her core. Aegon rose and grasped her roughly, forcing her lips to his once more. She could taste herself on his lips. Somehow, that fact alone made her more hot with need. “I want to make you cum with my cock, I want to feel your cunt tighten around me…” Aegon whispered at her ear hungrily, pulling her hips roughly to his. His hand went between them as he skillfully slipped a finger inside the Princess. He groaned at how tight and wet she was. Eira gasped at the abrupt intrusion, moaning her agreement. “Have you...am I…” Aegon muttered against her throat as he began to suck on it hungrily, his finger joined by a second as he attempted to loosen her some before filling her with his large, thick cock. 

Eira panted, turning her head to meet his eyes. She pressed her forehead to his own, her nose brushing his lightly in affection. “There has been no one else. You are my first” she whispered as she brushed his lips softly. Aegon shuddered, raising both his hands to grasp the side of her neck adoringly. He stared deeply into her blue eyes, losing himself for a moment.

“As you are mine…” He whispered, stepping closer between her legs and separating them. He grasped his cock, stroking lightly up and down it. He met her eyes that looked bright with wonder and need. She wrapped her legs around the Prince’s waist, pulling him closer to her wet heat. He rubbed himself up through her soaking folds, lubricating his cock for entry. Slowly, he positioned himself and began to slowly push forward into the girl. Eira flinched, her nails digging into Aegon’s back as she felt a searing, sharp sensation at her womanhood. Aegon captured her lips and her cries of discomfort following. “Shh, Shh...I’ll be quick” Aegon muttered into her mouth as he grabbed the girl’s hips and pulled her roughly upon his throbbing cock. 

Eira cried out, the pain finally peaking and burning between her legs. “That’s it…” Aegon whispered against her neck where he lay reassuring kisses. Eira flinched, the throb vibrating quietly as Aegon withdrew slowly. He gripped the table roughly, the feeling of her tight womanhood nearly sending him over the edge. Soon, her whimpers of pain had disappeared and were replaced with quiet, breathy moans. 

“More” she breathed, wrapping her legs tighter at his hips and forcing him deeper. Aegon moaned at the gesture, happy to oblige the woman. He thrust slowly at first, finding his pace with the Eira, but soon, she wanted more than that, too. Her hips began to meet his as her legs went slack at his sides to allow him deeper entry. Aegon took the opportunity to grasp one of her thigh and lift it higher. He held her still as he pounded rougher into her soaking womanhood. Eira’s desperate whimpering returned with a vengeance as she felt the tension in her core returning. “Oh, oh, right there…” she moaned, digging her nails into the Prince’s flesh once more. “Oh, Jon...Oh Gods…” she cried out.

Aegon was close too. And when he felt the woman’s cunt begin to pulse and throb against his cock, he couldn’t hold back his seed. He slammed into her one last time, squeezing the leg he had at his grasp. He groaned, shuddering as he felt his warmth fill her. They finished together and it was something magical and incomprehensible.

He panted heavily, his heart finally starting to slow to the rhythm it usually held. He met the woman’s eyes and seen she was equally out of breath. He pulled her closer to him, lifting her from the table he’d taken her on. He carried her as he walked to his bed with her on his front. They kissed lazily before collapsing in his bed finally, rising only to take one another once more in the still of night. 

Every night, that same routine followed. Aegon tried to stay away as often as he could, knowing his conduct would send him to an early grave if the two were discovered...but he couldn’t. 

The thirst he held for Eira became insatiable. He had to have her at every moment in the day, multiple times. In a dark corridor, in his quarters, in her own chambers, in the courtyard...it consumed him how much he lusted for her.

She...consumed him.

On one fateful night, Aegon searched for his frozen beauty, desperate to be inside and near her once more. 

But he could not find her. 

He checked everywhere she’d usually await him. In the feasting hall, library, courtyard...yet, it was to no avail. Defeated, he ceased his search, sure that she was likely tied up with her Queen mother or sister. She would undoubtedly come to him in due time. He would just have to be patient. 

The Prince turned down an unfamiliar corridor and halted when he heard voices. He strained, curious to know who was speaking so hushed. He peered around the corner and froze in surprise. 

Eira. And her brother. 

Eiran had pinned his sister against a stone wall and was muttering something to her. Aegon’s chest filled with heat as he felt an unusual anger rise into it. Eira was avoiding Eiran’s face, his sight...she remained still and emotionless. Suddenly, Eiran forced the woman to meet his eye. He whispered something to her, causing her to snap her gaze forward and grasp his arm angrily. 

Eiran yelped, stumbling back and holding his arm as though she’d burned him. His eyes fell onto his arm that had a strange, black hand print on it. Aegon gasped. 

It looked...like frostbite. 

“You little fucking cunt, what have I told you about touching me with your wight hands. Little frost whore!” He yelled, backhanding Eira to the floor. 

Aegon saw red as he pushed himself from the corner he watched from, running towards the two siblings. Eiran turned, hearing the thundering of boots behind him. He turned just in time to meet the Prince’s fist as it connected with his jaw. Eiran flew back against the stone wall, recovering as quick as he was hit. “You dare raise your hand to a woman?” Aegon seethed, his eyes dark and leering at the Frost Prince. “Don’t you ever lay a hand on her again, or it will be the last time you walk on two legs” Aegon seethed, standing before the Prince. The dragon flared his nostrils as though smoke could actually appear. A fire raged in the Dragon Prince’s chest.

“Fucking southern scum, I’ll have your head for this—

“What is the meaning of this!” A Godly voice boomed from the end of the hall. 

King Neve. 

“Father, this fowl, distasteful scum has striked me for no reason! Behead him!” Eiran spat angrily from behind his King father as he came to stand between the two feuding Prince’s. 

“You hit your sister for no reason! You are a disgrace to your name!” Aegon retorted, kneeling to brush Eira’s hair from her face. She avoided his eyes, her own as hard as they had been the day he’d met her. His glare dropped to her lip that was bleeding profusely. The Dragon seen red. Aegon stood abruptly, reaching once more for Eiran. 

“Enough! The both of you...Eiran...get out of my sight. We will speak of this matter at a later time. Eira...rise, my daughter. Go to Septa Anne and see that she tends to that cut…” King Neve bellowed low and warningly. Eira rose quickly and turned angrily, storming down the hall. Aegon resisted the urge to chase after her. 

Was this the life she truly lived? He had witnessed her wariness around her brother and assumed it was a result of his intense demeanor. It was not something he had never seen before, that type of caution. He had seen it between his uncle Viserys and aunt Daenerys. Viserys would raise his hand casually in conversation and she’d flinch like an abused animal. 

He despised it. 

“Father, he has laid his filthy hand upon— Eiran seethed, turning to his father once more.

“I said be gone!” King Neve boomed once more, his cold, blue eyes slicing deep into his son’s own. Eiran did not need to be told twice; with a lasting glare, he turned and disappeared down the hall, but not before throwing down a statue on his way. 

Silence fell between King Neve and Aegon. Aegon’s eyes fell to the floor, unsure of what to say. Perhaps, he had acted to hastily. He now left the motive behind his action up for question. What would King Neve say if he knew of his daughter and the Prince? Treason? “My King, I am sorry—

“Don’t be. Eiran is...my son...but there is something dark that lives within him that frighten my wife and daughters. And for some reason, he unleashes it the harshest upon Eira. He believes he owns her, or she owes him something…” King Neve mumbled tiredly, rubbing his old face. “He believes because she is his wife to be, that he can—

“Pardon, my King...his...his wife?” The words came out harsher than he intended. His heart began to sputter and ignite in his chest as the flames lapped angrily in disbelief at what he’d just heard. 

She was betrothed. She was betrothed and she never told him. 

She was meant...for Eiran. 

“Yes, my boy. As tradition holds in our House. Brothers and sisters must wed to maintain our ancient bloodline. We don’t not intermingle our blood...our lineage and legacy is imperative to maintain, an oath that Eldor Neve the First of His Name made to—

“I understand, Your Grace. You needn’t explain. I beg your forgiveness for the question” Aegon replied, a strange pain evident in his chest as he spoke. The words came out thicker than he intended. He made a mental note to leave the corridor at once before the truth began to spill from his tainted lips.

“Aegon...I have enjoyed your presence in Frostmore. You have shown me the true, noble and brave Prince you are and there is no doubt in my mind that you carry Aegon the Conqueror’s blood in your veins. Go home, my boy. You have been gone for nearly a year...your mother misses you. I would know, she writes me every week!” King Neve boomed in laughter. The King quieted, raising a hand to rest of the Prince’s shoulder. “I worry the north might be drawing you mad...we have trekked every inch of known wildling territory...we have accomplished more than we ever thought. You have gathered valuable information that is imperative to my securing of the north. I am forever indebted. Go home. You have done your job. There are no wights...only wildling scum and we here at Frostmore are more than adapted to handling them. Go, boy. It is time”. 

Aegon did not argue the King. He knew his place. And somewhere deep within, he knew he was right. What had he gotten himself into? What had he done in the name of nobility? He’d dishonored another man’s betrothed...and she allowed him—knowingly. He had done his job at Frostmore...and more. He had exterminated wildling threats and gained insight on growing others. 

It was time to go home. 

So the Prince left Frostmore with his Guard at the still of dawn the next morn. He had only told King Neve of his departure and the great man bid him well wishes for his journey home. 

Somewhere distant at his mind, he imagined Eira for a moment. He imagined her storming angrily to his chamber, eager to argue with him on his interjection upon the spat between she and her brother. He imagined her wanting to explain what her father had surely told him, once he’d confronted her.

Yet, he didn’t wish to hear either word or reason behind it all. What would it suffice? Surely the ache in his chest would not cease despite. So what was the point? 

That was it—there wasn’t. 

Aegon tucked the memory of the strange, snow maiden away deep in his mind with a lock and key, swearing to never visit it again. 

Without a final thought or sparing glance, he departed Frostmore’s gates and vowed never to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates have been exceptionally frequent due to them already being published on other sites as I transfer them on to my AO3 account. Thank you for the kudos and messages! They are lovely to see. Happy reading!


	4. Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is always some madness in love. But, there is also always some reason in madness” —Friedrich Nietzsche

A great lurch echoed along an empty passageway of the Red Keep. The quiet patter of boots along cold, damp cobblestone floors rang timidly as proud feet stalked in silence upon it. 

King Rhaegar stopped at the end of the quiet corridor, reaching to light a torch that resided on the wall. Once lit, he removed it quietly. He nodded to King and Queen Neve and his own wife, raising an arm to lead them down the empty entranceway. 

The music that was once heard from the grand hall had long spilled away into the meager night. The Royals were secluded and far from the merriment and looming ears who would undoubtedly be interested in what sparked the group’s departure so soon. 

Rhaegar unlocked an old iron door, leading the group inside a small room that reeked of rotted wood and moss. He glanced around the strange, old room to make sure no one had been occupying it. No doubt, it was abandoned and had been so for years. It was his father’s private chambers where he would often come to converse in private with the voices in his own mind. 

It was here in this dark room that the voices in King Aerys’ head told him to commit violent atrocities. Rhaegar shuddered at the painful thought and what it had indirectly birthed.

The King walked quietly to an old cabinet and drew it open, retrieving a considerably old flagon made of black glass. It had been stored indefinitely, corked and tucked away to last for years until the right occasion would draw it out. 

And that time was now.

Rhaegar retrieved a few matching chalices that had been beside the old flagon and returned in silence back to an old oak table that occupied the center of the room. “Please,” He beckoned, gesturing to the seats around it. “We have much to discuss” The King announced, a deafening “pop” chilling the room as he finally uncorked the old flagon. He poured the chalices nearly full and pushed them to each Royal who had taken a seat. 

“I assume this matter you wish to bid our ear is grave enough for you to have led us to the darkest corners of your castle, My King…” King Neve spoke, tentatively sniffing his chalice before drawing his first taste. He nodded approvingly to the glass. “It’s good. Aged” he turned quietly to his wife who drummed her fingers at the chalice’s stem anticipatingly. Her nerves were too wound to drink just yet. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace. My castle is littered with spiders and men who would be desperate to harbor knowledge that did not concern them” King Rhaegar spoke sternly, taking his seat finally. “I am not unaware of the many sheep in Westeros who would do anything to be a step ahead of a dragon.” 

“You speak of the Lannisters and Baratheons” Queen Neve remarked boldly, finally drawing her own glass to her lips. She stiffened at the ale’s harsh taste. Queen Lyanna shook her head in response to the frozen Queen’s remark. She inhaled deeply, her eyes flickering tentatively to her husband to finish what she dared not speak. Rhaegar remained still, allowing his wife the moment. 

“They are a growing problem, yes. We are more concerned of the ears they whisper to across the narrow sea” Lyanna muttered, reaching for Rhaegar’s hand that anxiously drummed the oak table. He met her worrisome eyes and brushed his fingers reassuringly across the she-wolf’s hand. 

“Essos,” King Neve confirmed, his eyes narrowing on King Rhaegar. “What of it” He demanded, his voice low and filled with suspicion. He was very much aware of the tension that besieged the country since Rhaegar won the throne. Still, his confidence in the Targaryen rule remained. Was the King in the south suggesting that something was amiss?

“I have sent spies to the continent in search of Lannister and Baratheon loyalist. The spies have infiltrated Slaver’s bay disguised as exiled Westerosi with a hatred for the Crown. They have discovered that Tywin Lannister has sought an alliance with the Masters of the Free Cities. In exchange for loyalty and armies, Tywin funds their pockets and indirectly, their control of the slaves. He has provided weaponry, gold, iron and ships. I am concerned that he is looking to grow an army...perhaps, to invade Westeros and inevitably the Capital” Rhaegar spoke firmly, his voice riddled in dread and contempt. Queen Neve’s glare flickered nervously to her husband who had straightened at the King’s words. The Frost Lord stroked his white beard tentatively. The Dragon King was speaking of war.

“The Gold Company endorses them?” King Neve questioned, throwing the last of his chalice back bitterly. He reached hastily for the flagon, filling it nearly to the point it overflowed. Alas, it would be a long night indeed. 

“It is uncertain. My spy has yet to confirm” Rhaegar answered with a deep sigh. He pondered his ally’s question. “He has not heard of Tywin meeting with them as of yet”. 

“You have said spies, now you claim spy—singular. Which is it, My King. Do you have more than one ear or many?” Queen Neve questioned, her hands rising upon the oak table to fold in skepticism. 

Queen Lyanna straightened at the other Queen’s brass. Her grey eyes flickered quietly to her husband, curious of his response to the woman’s remark. Aegon inhaled deeply at the Frozen Queen’s skepticism.

“Spy. Ser Jorah Mormont. The previous Lord of House Mormont in the north, exiled for selling poachers to the slave trade” King Rhaegar answered reluctantly, knowing his choice of informant was rather peculiar. King Neve and his wife exhaled a disagreeable breath as their eyes met in indifference. 

“Deplorable!” Queen Neve boomed, her face twisted in shame. “You would trust someone so...ill-willed? You are naive, King Rhaegar” Her eyes scrutinized the King once more. She was beginning to doubt her previous confidence in King Rhaegar’s rule. Her husband raised his hand to quiet his wife who had become uncomposed at the news. 

“Let him speak, Eiris” King Neve spoke boldly, a warning leer ever present in his blue eyes. Queen Neve pressed her lips together, irritated at her husband’s dismissal of her concern. Fools, the both of them. 

“He is desperate to return home and has reported valuable information for the Crown. We only know this much because of his loyalty and service. I trust Ser Jorah. He was brought to me by Varys, my own Capital keeper of secrets” King Rhaegar remarked defensively. “But if what he has reported is true, we are in danger. The continent houses foreign armies, mercenaries...men willing to put their own mothers to the sword for a few gold dragons. I worry if Tywin continues to bid the ear of these hungry men, he will have an army large enough to siege Westeros.”

“Are your Houses not loyal, My King?” King Neve responded curtly, his proud, white brow cocked accusingly for the Dragon King. Just what type of Kingdom was the Targaryen man ruling?

“Most. The loyalist are forever indebted to the Crown. House Tyrell, Martell...in the beginning, the Riverlords and Stormlords…” Rhaegar noted as he drew a harsh swig of his chalice. “House Stark and the north are loyal to Lyanna’s claim and Eddard’s marriage to Catelyn Tully has benefited in keeping the Riverlands in compliance as well.” 

“Then what concerns you?” King Neve questioned with a scoff. “You have allies in the north and south. Damn the east and west. You could burn the Houses to the ground with Rhaegal alone, not to mention Viserion and Daerion who are fully grown, too. What concerns you, my King?” King Neve boomed once more, leaning forward to peer gravely upon the Dragon King. A flicker of doubt wet Rhaegar’s eyes as the King gazed upon him.

“That is the concern, Your Grace. I worry of the deception within my own House” Rhaegar spoke angrily. “Have you noticed my brother is not here? Today is a grand day, you would think the beastly cunt would be here on his own nephew’s name day. Yet he is absent. Daenerys...my poor sister’s return to Dragonstone was demanded only a moon ago. Viserys has long been angry with me since I had promised our sister to Eddard Stark’s son. The amusement is, the Lord has no intention to take up the honor. He has his own wills for his eldest boy. But Daenerys is fearful of Viserys. I know what he is and I will not sentence her to that life. She has suffered long since never knowing her mother’s touch. Moons ago I spoke with my brother, the Mad Lord of Dragonstone to bid his ear of other arrangements and he nearly lost his damn mind…” Rhaegar muttered coldly. He gripped his chalice in frustration. 

“You think your brother would betray you?” Queen Neve questioned in bewilderment. “My King, the man holds a dragon of his own. The battle for the Iron Throne would see the death of millions. Ancient Houses would meet their extinction!” The Queen muttered painfully, her hand subconsciously reaching for her King husband. Undoubtedly, her mind was on her own family. If the southern Kingdom fell, what would come to the north?

“I know not for certain. It unsettles me. The Gods flipped their coin on Viserys’ birth and damned him madness before greatness. The fool’s eyes glisten at anyone who promises a crown. I know Viserys is desperate for power and will do anything to achieve it. He wishes to rule. I fear if Tywin Lannister begs his ear, what he will whisper to my brother. The man is cross with me already for suggesting another match for Daenerys. He will stop at nothing to maintain his legacy” Rhaegar muttered hastily, his grip growing fierce in the gold chalice once more. 

“Viserys is merely an inconvenience. If what you have bid me of Lord Tywin is true, he is your greatest threat at hand. Viserys will only seek the opportunity that promises the highest favor. Eliminate Tywin’s power and entice! You must invade Essos and cease the trade!” King Neve boomed, causing his wife and Queen Lyanna to flinch at his rare anger. 

Rhaegar shook his head in disagreement to the Frost Lord’s haste. “On what grounds? My rule is already weathered volatile. If I invade the country—

“No. If Tywin infiltrates the country further and garners the ear of the Dothraki War Lords, that will be your end. Those bloody barbarians are built for killing and siege. You are moons too late if he garners their support!” King Neve interjected, rising from his seat. “If the south falls, it is only a matter of time before Tywin turns his sights north. You must act now, Rhaegar. My army beyond the wall can hold for some time, but it is not definite!”

“What do you suggest, Eldor? I fly across with Rhaegal and burn the Free Cities to the ground? You are mad” Rhaegar groaned tiredly. “The Dothraki are the coin to flip in Tywin’s scheme. If he garners their alliance…” Rhaegar grumbled, thrusting from his own seat. The room fell silent at the tension that erupted in it. 

A moment of silence fell upon the group of Royals. Each silently pondered the notion of impending war...each stilled at what would come to their own family. 

“...You say Daenerys is a Lady in Waiting, aye?” King Neve muttered after a tense moment of silence. Rhaegar stood at a window that was riddled in rot and overgrown vine. His violet eyes flickered back to the Frost King. 

“Yes...I will not allow her to marry Viserys. He is too poisonous. He’d kill her for the smallest notion of non compliance” Rhaegar whispered tiredly, his hands washing across his ailing face in defeat. He glanced skeptically at his northern counterpart awaiting his word.

“Do you trust her?” King Neve mused, stalking slow to the King who leaned defeatedly upon a broken chair. He caught the King’s blue eye and prodded it curiously. 

“She is more fit to rule than Viserys...Her heart is soft and kind, yet fair and noble. She could be the fairest conquer, loved by all people, if that was a fate she chose” The King mumbled. King Neve straightened at Rhaegar’s confirmation. His eyes flickered to his wife who straightened as well in agreement of the King’s held word. Lyanna too, sighed deeply in realization of what King Neve meant to speak. 

“Then let her conquer…”

—

Eira Neve stood solemnly at a pilar within the grand hall. She watched boredly with her usual perturbed glint in her eyes the people who danced drunkenly before her. Gap-toothed women laughed righteously as fat, red-faced Lords bid to them for a dance and cheer. 

She scoffed at them. Drunks and noble whores. She raised her wine glass tentatively to her lips, the sweet berry warming her throat as she drew it’s nectar. Her siblings were close, but unlingering. Her blue eyes flickered to Eireena, her better half, who was sitting solemnly at a table, her back rigid and unresponsive to the celebrations around her. Eireena picked aimlessly at her butchered fingers, ripping and nipping at tattered flesh as though she meant to rid herself of the tough skin all together. And Eiran, the Prince was standing opposite to his twin across the hall, his eyes never leaving Eira for a moment. She could feel his hatred pooling to her from the ground he stood from. She grimaced in his direction.

Still, Eira watched him, her eyes unblinking and unwilling to drop the hateful gaze they held. Eiran’s eyes bore into her with malice—the same malice that was present and alive in her own. What was the beastly, little brute thinking? He had become unnerved the moment Prince Aegon had crossed the hall to greet their family. Eiran despised how his father would hail the Dragon Prince and boast about his bravery—even after Aegon had long departed Frostmore. He never spoke of Eiran in that context. Why would he? Eiran was hateful, full of darkness and ill intention. If anything, Eldor Neve was ashamed. Or perhaps, Eiran was recalling his last encounter with the dragon as he watched his sister. Yes, he was likely reliving the crack of the young man’s heavy fist upon his pathetic jaw. Eira smirked silently at the fact. 

“Princess Eira, I am elated to see you in the Capital” a voice called to the stoic woman from her side.

Eira remained still, her eyes sharp and condemning all the same as she did not move to acknowledge the voice. Her lack of recognition elicited a quiet awkwardness between she and the unknown person. Eira lifted her glass slowly to her lips, sipping her wine curtly. She paused for a moment in hope that the man who called to her would depart once he’d realized the woman was in no mood to converse. Yet, to her dismay, the presence remained. 

“...You look well. It has been moon’s since we’ve seen one another. I was surprised when your family and Guard entered the hall…”

Eira inhaled deeply, her breath swirling in agitation for the Lord who would not take her silence as a cue to leave her be. Annoying cunt. Eira turned irritatingly to the man, her eyes slit in contempt. Her blue eyes sliced defiantly into the man before her. 

It was Gendry Baratheon. Eira relaxed.

“Enjoying Aegon’s celebrations...” Eira questioned, though the remark sought no reply. She sipped her wine once more, turning away from the young stag. Gendry smiled sheepishly. He was heavily intoxicated and swaying gently against his better control. Yet, here she was—the Princess of Frostmore. He did not heed her cold demeanor as a sign that she was unwilling to speak merriments. 

“Quite much...would you like another glass, Princess?” Gendry mused, snatching a flagon from a passing wench. He bid her a lopsided smile, to which the wench blushed profusely and bowed. He turned once more to Eira, his hand trembling from ale as he attempted to raise it to the cold woman. 

Eira’s gaze flickered impatiently to the stag. She held her glass out closer for the man, realizing he was beyond capable of maintaining his composure. “I see you are enjoying the festivities very so” Eira remarked in a monotone. She withdrew her hand coldly before the stag could over pour her glass and spill the wine upon her hand. 

“Of course! It is my brother’s name day. Have you seen him? I...I wanted to tell him of Margaery. She—she ignored me again, but I feel she may be playing the tease...do...do you think so, Eira? Sorry. Princess, Eira?” Gendry stumbled, leaning against the same wall which Eira had remained. She ignored the drunk fool, her hands nearly bursting the glass at which she held for the name Gendry drew from his stained lips. Aegon...Jon.

“Maidens do not favor drunken idiots,” Eira replied boredly, sipping her cup. “You would be wise to change your choice of glass from wine to water” Her eyes remained cold and trained on no particular destination. Gendry scratched his head in confusion. What had she meant? 

“I am not an idiot, I am Gendry Baratheon, Lord of—

“Lord of nothing. Don’t you have whores to entertain?” Eira spat coldy, her gaze finally turned to leer into the foolish stag. Gendry straightened at once, laughing nervously. Aye, he was not too drunk to realize he’d crossed the woman. He lowered his head shamefully, though that smug little smile remained on his chiseled face. Eira watched him from the corner of her eye, her own brow cocking in irritation of the naive boy. 

“I am sorry if I’ve offended. I usually bid Aegon’s assistance with obtaining ladies. The maidens laugh at my drunken word but they cry for Aegon. He has quite the charm with them...I was hoping you could steer me in the direction of my partner in mischief” Gendry mumbled with a quiet laugh. Eira tensed once more, her knuckles turning white from how rough her grasp had become on her glass. Something dark churned in the Princess’ stomach and had begun to dissipate through her hands in sheer irritation. 

Gendry’s eyes flickered to the glass at which Eira held that had begun to fog as though it was left outside in the middle of a snow storm. Ominously, the strange condensation rose from the stem of the glass, crackling along the way. Gendry’s eyes widened slowly as he took a wary step from Eira’s presence. What was this witchcraft? 

The cracklings became more prominent as the glass went ghostly white and began to excrete a strange, chilling fog. Gendry gasped in disbelief as frost began to cover the glass, all while the crackling became more evident. And then suddenly, it ceased. Gendry’s chest heaved in wonder as his brows knit in awe of what he’d seen. His heart raced silently beneath his cloak as his eyes flickered nervously to the silent Princess who’s face had not moved at all from wherever it was fixed. “Princess, are you—

The glass combusted in an instant from Eira hand. Shards of glass became crystallized dust and flew into the air. The dust began to float gently to the ground like fresh, glittering snow. The wine that had been in the glass resulted to a mere shimmering cloud of red, before it too dissipated to the stag’s feet. A few nobles that had been around the pair startled at the shrill noise of glass shattering. They turned and watched the Princess and stag curiously, unsure of what had just happened. 

Gendry grabbed the wall he had been leaning on in fright, the event sobering him some from his drunken foolishness. His eyes shot upward to the Princess’ hand expecting to see numerous cuts from where the glass had burst in her grasp. 

But nothing was there. She was unharmed. It was like the woman had never held a glass. 

“My Lady…” Gendry began. “Are you alright?” He inquired breathlessly, unsure if what he’d seen were real or the result of partaking in too much ale. 

Eira remained stoic. She pushed from the wall at once, turning to meet eyes with stag who besieged her presence. She was unnervingly calm. It disturbed the boy. “I do not know where Aegon is. I don’t care where he is” her voice was strangely disinterested and unmoved like nothing in the passing moments had occurred. Gendry shook his head in confusion of her dismissal. What was this madness?

“I thought you were friends” He suddenly blurted, his dark brows knitted in naive. Eira flinched at the stag’s comment. Her lips pressed together in annoyance, but she composed herself before it could be noted. What had Jon told him of her? 

“I have never…”

“My apologies, Princess. I just recall you two conversing together at Frostmore. I imagined perhaps...you were fond of one another. You were fair and pleasant to him. And perhaps, that’s why you are here. Queen Lyanna invited all potential courting matches for the Prince. He is looking for a wife...I must have misinterpreted the extent of your relationship with him. It is clear now you are here to merely bid your respects” Gendry stumbled, bowing his courtesy. The boy was too inebriated to accurately explain the contexts at which he spoke. Eira quieted at Gendry’s words. Her hand twitched at her side, a strange heat had begun to swirl about her chest and belly. The sensation winded her, like she’d been gutted poorly by a drunken fisherman. 

The Prince sought a wife. 

Perhaps that explains why he was so quick to leave Frostmore without a word to the woman. He had got what he wanted from the Princess and it was time to return to his Prince duties and find a wife. 

Her heart ached quietly at the thought. He had truly discarded the Princess’ memory. She had not been told of this matter with the Prince searching for a suitable bride. The only reason she knew of her family being summoned to the Capital was for King Rhaegar to bid urgent matters to her father. 

There was no mention of a potential courtship. Why would there be? The Targaryen Crown knew Eira was betrothed to her brother...despite Aegon being the last to become aware. I suppose it never mattered if the Prince had other intentions to see through. 

“I don’t know what you speak of. I spent as much time with Aegon as I did with any of his Guard. Pleasantries are required for guest of my Kingdom. But seeing as there are no more guest for me to be pleasant toward...” the Princess replied simply, though her jaw clenched and eyes hardened otherwise. Gendry flinched, understanding what she meant by her agitated word; he would be wise to wrap up his ramblings for the girl. Eira turned away from the stag, eager to leave the hall in search of solitude. Gendry cocked a curious brow at the frozen girl, shifting uneasily from one foot to another. Perhaps he had misinterpreted something?

“Princess, I—

“You are persistent. Then again, I hear stag’s are too hard-headed to not heed a clear dismissal” a woman’s voice spoke behind Gendry. 

Gendry turned, startled by the small woman who bid his attention. She had thick, dark hair that fell gently to the top of her shoulders, with single braid wound intricately through it to resemble a crown. Her eyes were as dark as her hair with touches of deep grey that stormed within. He watched her curiously with his brow cocked in mystery for the silver tongued girl who spoke to him so curtly. She resembled so much his adoptive mother, Queen Lyanna. “I don’t believe you were invited to join this conversation...what are you? A child? You look much to small to be carrying that chalice, girl. Run off to your mother and father” Gendry replied boredly, dismissing the girl at once. The nerve of this little breast…

“Oh, your eyes do work? Funny you can take notice of my small stature yet can’t notice when a lady wishes to be rid of your presence” The mysterious, dark haired girl replied, snorting. She sipped her wine mockingly, eyeing the drunk boy. Gendry sighed deeply from behind his turned back. He glanced towards the Princess who had undoubtedly heard the minuscule exchange and was boasting a small smirk at the girl’s brass. Gendry’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment. 

“What do you want, you little shit? Gold? I’ll request you all the dragons you want if you would bloody fuck off—

“I’ll request your head from my Warden father, if you continue to spew such indecency at his youngest daughter. Or perhaps my Queen aunt...and I am not a child so I suggest you stop regarding me as so. I am ten and six, soon to be seven and I— The mysterious girl noted proudly, her nostrils flaring for the stag. She straightened her back and leered in malice upon the stag. 

Gendry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “A Stark, wonderful. You should know your Queen aunt sees me as her son, so perhaps your tongue should hold before I request your head instead” Gendry retorted childishly, turning completely to the girl. He regarded her coldly, his brows knitted together in annoyance once more. The girl laughed deeply, nearly spilling her wine she held loosely between slender fingers. 

“You would be daft to think my aunt would ever do such a thing!” She chuckled deeper, smirking mischievously at the stag. “I know exactly who you are and what you are to my Royal family. Yet you speak so righteously to me but no know nothing of who I am. I would refrain while you are somewhat ahead, boy” the girl shook her head with a disapproving smirk. “Besides. I’ve done what I came to do—the Princess is free of your slurring. So I will leave you to stand here looking foolish, once more. Good day Lord Baratheon” Without a final remark, the girl turned on her heel ever quick and swayed away. 

Gendry furrowed his brows, turning to see if the Princess was actually gone. Alas, the mysterious girl was correct. Princess Eira has disappeared without a word spared or lasting glare. The stag sighed defeatedly, turning to argue once more with the annoying little twit who had interrupted him to begin with and cost him the Princess’ attention. 

But she too had dispersed. “Arya! Come my sweetling, where have you disappeared to…” Gendry heard the Tully woman, matriarch to House Stark call after her daughter. She greeted her with an affectionate stroke of her dark locks and led her by the small of her back to the other Stark children. 

“Arya...little shit” Gendry grumbled under his breath as he turned on his heel. He promised to pay her back for her annoyance. Gendry sighed deeply. The stag needed another drink and fancy his luck, Margaery Tyrell was serving herself one with a flagon at an empty table. “Wonderful” he muttered to himself with a smirk. He straightened out once more, sticking his chest out before he began his stroll to the pretty rose. He paused for a moment, ceasing his step. He turned, glancing upon the Stark family once more. Peculiar...he counted them at his sight...Lord and Lady Stark, Robb, Sansa, young Rickon, the little shit...was there not one more Stark? A boy? Who was missing?

And why?

Gendry shrugged off the insignificant thought and turned back to the real object of his attention. Margaery was staring in his direction with a less than friendly smile. Alas, it was a smile all the same and a good enough conversation starter for he.

Gendry straightened once more and made his way over to the Tyrell woman. 

Outside the grand hall, Prince Aegon remained uneasy.

His mind was strung between thoughts of anger, pain, regret and indecency. Eira sieged his mind like the harpy always had from the moment he’d ever been cursed to lay his eyes on her. He wondered for a moment if she’d actually bewitched him, or passed some strange, dark northern magic upon his mind whilst he laid at her side in Frostmore. What else could it be? What other explanation would fit as to why the Dragon could not rid himself of her memory?

The dragon stood at the foot of a small pond within the terrace. He absentmindedly swirled his chalice, staring deeply into the water before him. He brought the glass to his mouth, tasting the sweet, Dornish wine that met his taste buds. He closed his eyes, relishing the warmth it provided. It had been his fourth of the evening and he was beginning to feel the gentle kiss of relaxation it bid. It relieved him.

He lowered the chalice slowly, gazing deeply into the dark waters of the pond. The reflection rippled silently at his gaze. The water’s quiet tremble echoed peacefully across the scape. He watched himself, taking in his tousled curls as black as ink and brooding grey eyes. Somehow, in the time between the day he had departed his home and when he had met the King and his frozen family, his beard had grown thicker. Perhaps it was a sign of distress. 

How long had he been outside the grand hall and it’s celebrations? Long enough, perhaps. A few Lords and Lady’s had turned in for the night, he had watched their departure from the terrace balcony. Some were granted stay within the Red Keep—the highest Lords and Ladies. Alas, the celebration was still very alive and it’s remaining guests much more. Yet, Aegon could not bring himself to will his feet forward to join them. 

He knew she was there. Eira Neve.

He imagined her sitting in silence, maybe joined by her siblings. Eireena’s presence around the woman seemed to draw out a more relaxed energy around her. She would smile sometimes, though not often. She would even grace the people around her with a subtle laugh if her dear sister was near. But, Eiran was a different story. 

He stiffened at the thought. Eiran. His mind drifted back to the night he had decided it was time to leave Frostmore. He remembered the way Eiran leered over Eira, taunting her...he remembered how closed off she had become, how still and utterly lifeless. 

He pitied the Princess and the future that had been set in stone for her. Not long ago, he would have done anything to free her from the little cunt’s clutches. He would have begged King Neve’s approval, wrote his own parents. Anything to be with Eira. But now, he couldn’t seem to see past her deceit and the pain it had brought him. Why did she lie? Why wouldn’t she tell the Prince of her betrothal? Aegon always thought the girl was a bit dark...the way she would walk around in sheer agitation and malice. Still, he never thought she’d intentionally hurt him. He supposed it wasn’t her fault; anyone sworn to the likes of Prince Neve would fall into the same dark, depression, harming anyone who tread too near. Whether it was intended or not, the wound festered all the same.

Aegon drew his chalice to his lips once more, relishing cynical relief it brought him. He had indulged in enough ale to become increasingly agitated with the growing knowledge of Eira’s presence in his castle, yet not enough to stop the thoughts of seeking her out. 

What would he say if he had crossed her path? Perhaps a strained hello. Still, Aegon knew that would not be the result. No, the Prince would likely exchange a familiar glare, crude remark and then undoubtedly seek her in her private chambers and unleash his pent up rage upon her naked but surely agreeing body.

The Prince’s pants twitched at the thought of her. He cursed himself silently, tilting his head to the dark, Capital skies. Slowly, he drew in a haste filled breath. The Gods were truly cruel and the Targaryens undoubtedly cursed. 

Three moons since he’d shared her warmth and discovered her treachery and he still craved the taste of her lips. Her lying, hateful, vile spewing mouth...those sinister, malicious lips...wrapped perfect around his swollen cock. 

Aegon flinched at the indecent thought that had invaded his mind once more. He threw back another harsh gulp of his chalice. That sweet and poisonous siren’s ballad still rang as bright as day at the back of his mind. Gods, if his parents knew. His mother would lose her breath and his father would lose his mind. 

And he would undoubtedly lose his head. 

Aegon lowered his chalice. His eyes became lost in his reflection that leered back at him from the quiet pond. Small scars barely noticeable, yet some more prominent had littered his face. Some from training, most from his journey beyond the wall and missions he’d took. 

When had the Prince become so stoic? His eyes lacked the quiet joy they usually held before his departure of Kingslanding. Was it Eira who had drained his once bright, grey pools? No. Something cold and dark was beginning to brew in the dragon. Sometimes, he noticed it. A grimace here and there, a lack of joy for a jest made by his brother, impatience for a new squire who couldn’t attach his shoulder plates fast enough. Somewhere between the moon he had left his home and the moon he journeyed back under, he had become darker. Though, the light was still prominent at times; a small flicker that he knew was Lyanna Stark...but there was still something dark amiss.

Something bred in madness...something Targaryen.

The pond churned slowly, it’s waves moving calm and smooth against the Capital’s gentle, summer wind. The sound soothed the Prince’s troubled mind.

Suddenly, he noticed a subtle change in the pond’s tide. He straightened at the notion.

The pond churned slow...waving timidly at the Prince’s reflection...and then suddenly, it went still. Aegon’s eyes narrowed as he peered curiously at the suddenly stiff water. His reflection has stopped trembling with the tide. He bent closer to peer deeper into the suddenly reluctant pond. 

A quiet crackle began to sing to the Prince from the other end of the pond. Aegon’s eyes flickered from his haunting reflection to the entirety of the pond that had begun to stiffen quietly. The crackle became more apparent and proud, traveling down the quiet pond to the curious Prince. Aegon took a wary step back from the pond, his eyebrows knitting in bewilderment as he suddenly realized the pond was beginning to freeze over. He gazed aweingly as his reflection became concealed in frost, barely recognizable from the ground he had once peered so easily to it from.

He halted. Aegon’s heart began to spur in wonder as he knelt on one knee to touch the suddenly frozen body of water. What was this magic? He drew forth a trembling hand, tugging his glove from it as he bent closer to touch the pond and confirm that he had not imagined its sudden change. 

“All this time and the sight of ice still unnerves you. You really are as pathetic as I always thought, Prince Jon” whispered a voice. 

Jon stiffened. Gods, that voice...that sweet, disturbing voice. So malicious, so vile, so real. 

Her. 

Jon rose slowly, never turning to face the woman who had called to him so suddenly. A damn harpy. He closed his eyes and attempted to steady his heart that had begun to sputter beyond his control. His hands began to sweat, his mouth ran dry and his breath evaded him with no intent on return. 

Her.

Jon listened quietly to the steps she took. Slow, calculated. She was weathering his demeanor. She was smart. Eira knew better than to be haste with her words to Aegon, even if she wished to take hold of his arm and freeze it so deep, it would shatter into a million, insignificant pieces. 

Who was she kidding—every piece of him was significant to her. And, the Princess hated that fact. 

Her footsteps ceased at Aegon’s side, though the Prince refused to meet her eye. He stood firm, his eyes trained and forward on no particular destination. A lesson from one of her books. Anywhere but her eyes was fair—necessary. 

Her eyes. Her perfect blue, hateful eyes. Just one look...his heart begged him to turn and face the siren but his mind refused the request. Eira didn’t deserve it. 

But Eira on the other hand took it without asking for permission. She knew she didn’t need it.

Eira moved to stand in front of the Prince when he refused to meet her presence. Her all too familiar eyes slit in utter contempt. Her lips, ever luscious and pink, were held angrily in a pressed line. The lack of emotion was unsettling as she glared upon the Prince. Aegon groaned lustfully at the sight of her, though he refused to allow it outside his conscious. In his mind, he had already reached for her and gripped her hair so tight between his rough hands that she had flinched. The Prince had already slammed her against the statue at their side and swallowed her hateful remarks and savory lies before she could think of a next. His tongue had already devoured her mouth and his hands had already tore her dress up the middle and ripped her small clothes from her pretty, little cunt. 

And then, he had filled her. Angrily, and with no remorse he had filled her tight, sweet body and held her firm as he thrusted deep and desperately into the woman that was undoubtedly his. 

And only his. 

He stiffened at his thoughts once more. They alarmed him how quick and easy they spilled into his mind. So violent, so indecent. 

Madness.

“I hope you are enjoying the festivities, Princess. It is an honor that you and your family— Aegon began, unwilling to be any more than political with the woman.

“You mean your courtship celebrations. Find any cunts better than mine? Or is the Prince too noble to sample before he makes a choice?” Eira responded simply, never meeting the man’s eye. Her gaze was trained forward, somewhere within the Capital that lay beneath them. Aegon fell rigid at her remark. He inhaled deeply, unwilling to partake in her usual mind games. It was how it always started. 

And he knew how it would undoubtedly end.

“I have many guests to greet, thank you for bidding you congratulations, Princess. Enjoy the evening” He replied curtly, retrieving his chalice he had abandoned not even a moment prior. He rose quietly, unwilling to meet the woman’s eye. 

Eira did not flinch at the Prince’s coldness. Quietly, she raised her own glass that she had taken with her to the terrace. She sipped it calmly. “Of course. Thank you, Prince Jon” she replied just as emotionless as her words before. Aegon halted abruptly at the name she used. His anger flared. Such a simple response, such a simple title and yet, it engulfed the dragon in overwhelming pain and resentment. 

“Aegon. My name is Aegon” The Prince replied mechanically, never turning to meet the woman as he stalked past her. He shook off the eternal flame her comment had ignited and walked towards the terrace doors. She knew how to garner a rise out of the dragon.

“My apologies, Your Grace. I must’ve confused the two. One you respond to before your people, the other you respond to when you are taking me relentlessly. A minor mishap. It won’t happen again.” There she was. There was that hateful, silver tongued siren. A delicious chill ran up Aegon’s back as he halted his step to regard her words.

Malicious maiden. He should throw her to the terrace floor and take her from behind like a hound takes his bitch. Yes, that would teach her the lesson she was late in learning. Alas, a lesson he was all too willing to teach. He nearly yearned to. 

Aegon shut his eyes tightly, banishing another terrible thought to the deepest corners of his mind. What was this woman doing to him? What had he become with the influence of her presence? She had truly bewitched the man. There was something dark about her presence and it called so lustfully to him. The Prince was wise...but not wise enough to refuse the taunt. He couldn’t help it. Eira was insatiable, his true weakness and the itch to consume her and her insolence was drowning him slowly. 

More and more madness. 

Was it so wrong that the Prince still wanted to hold the girl despite her treachery? Did that make him weak or foolish? He couldn’t shake her—not with her being here, so close, so inviting and ripe for the taking. The way she tormented the Prince’s mind...was consuming. 

“Eira,” the Prince began, his conscious nearly smothering him. “I—

“What have we here! The Prince and my dear sister...sorry, wife to be—I always forget. A pleasant sight!” A man interrupted before the Prince could speak.

Aegon turned to the voice that had called to he and his siren from the terrace doors. Eira remained stoic, knowing too well whom the voice belonged to. 

Eiran.

“I was caught up in grand conversation with this little beauty...what is your name again…” Eiran rubbed the shoulder of a maiden who was tucked quietly under his great arm. The woman blushed softly, smiling and Eiran’s mistaken kindness. Her nerves were ill-hid. 

Sansa Stark. “L-Lady Sansa of House Stark” the red haired maiden replied nervously. The Prince had witnessed her conversing with a few of her siblings and a few other nobles, when he overheard her woos and hopes of a potential match between her and Prince Aegon. 

Prince Aegon? The same Prince who seemed to be so taken with the frozen boy’s sister, that he’d strike him in sheer rage for simply occupying her presence too close? 

This was almost too easy.

Aegon inhaled deeply, his patience nearly depleted for his Royal guest. Eiran eyed him in amused maliciousness. Truly, Eiran was quite angered to find the Prince held up with his sister—wife. But still, the frozen brute had a feeling she was with him. “Aegon...Lady Sansa is truly such an exquisite beauty. What with those rosy cheeks and cold, blue eyes. Yes, that is much your taste, isn’t it?” He remarked with a hateful glint in his eye. He brushed Sansa’s cheek endearingly. She smiled nervously once more under his gesture. 

Aegon stiffened, his nostrils flaring in silence. This was not the place...no, Aegon remembered his honor, no matter how much he wished to rid himself of it in this moment. The Prince’s mother was ever present in his heart, even in this moment of overwhelming darkness. And the Prince was gravely aware at how much trouble Queen Lyanna went through to throw him such a grand celebration. He would not let it all go to waste for this beastly little cunt and the lack of honor within him. 

“Sansa, come. Let us rejoin our family. We have much to speak about” Aegon replied with a forced smile. He walked smoothly to the girl, taking her arm. “Your brother tells me Bran has remained at Winterfell. I am not surprised, my uncle would say that a Stark must always remain in Winterfell” Aegon turned the naive girl away from the surrounding malice before them. Sansa blushed, oblivious to the ill-intent that lay around, eager to make a pawn out of her. Sansa was just happy to finally be in the Prince’s presence and hold his attention. All night, she had searched for his eyes and figure and was unsuccessful. It unnerved her. She felt as though her opportunity to impress the handsome Prince was slipping through her slender fingers. 

And yet, when she discovered Aegon on this quiet terrace alone with Princess Eira, she felt a sudden jealousy. Who was this little wench? Princess Eira. Frozen whore beyond the wall. What right did she have to impede on her moment with the Prince? In that second, Sansa decided she hated the little white haired bitch. She recalled Arya talking highly of the Princess and her clever wit to their family, only moments sooner and it unnerved her further. To hell with them both then; Princess Eira the impeding slut and her own strange sister, Insolent-Arya. 

She’d crush them both if they got in the way of her crown. 

“Yes, he has stayed back for...remarkable reasons. I would love to go somewhere and chat with you in private of the matter” Sansa began, lacing her arm stiffly within the Prince’s. Aegon smiled politely, though the touch made him slightly uneasy. He felt awkward for Eira’s presence. She undoubtedly had noticed his overcompensation towards the Stark girl. He wondered if she believed it was genuine. Did she even care? Likely not.

Eiran smiled, clapping his hands together. “Wonderful. I am happy I could bring your potential bride to you, Aegon. Perhaps, if you could bid me and my own some privacy…” the Prince turned slowly to his sister who was stoic and unmoved at the false delight before her. She did not waiver or flinch at the scene unfolding in her presence...no matter how much it burned. 

Eira met Eiran’s eye discreetly, glaring upon it. Her eyes spoke of her hatred toward him. He smirked at her response to his disingenuous behavior. “You look beautiful under this light Eira” he muttered just loud enough for the Stark girl and Targaryen Prince to hear. His cold eyes flickered innocently to the Prince and naive girl to ensure they had heard his words. 

Sure enough, they had. And the Dragon Prince was silently enraged. 

“Come, Lady Sansa. It is becoming rather cold” Aegon muttered, pulling the girl’s arm toward the Keep. It was not completely untrue, despite Aegon saying so to persuade the woman inside and away from the atrocities. A sudden chill had in fact crept upon the quiet terrace. Sansa smiled sincerely, her daft mind believing that Aegon was enthralled at her being with him and seeking some time alone. 

“...Yes, so beautiful,” Eiran whispered for Eira’s ears only. The maiden never met his eye as her sight remained relentless on the nothingness of the Capital sky. “Is it in poor that I crave a taste of what’s to come?” Eiran whispered sincerely. His glare softened suddenly as he rose his mirroring pale hand to stroke the woman’s cheek. Eira remained unphased at his action. Her stomach had began to churn in quiet rage. Still, the Princess did not flinch away from his cold touch or fight it off. She knew better. 

Eiran’s once subtle and gentle touch suddenly weathered aggressive as he gripped the Princess’ chin abruptly. “So sweet, dear sister…” he whispered quietly before leaning in ever slow and brushing his lips across her own lifeless ones. His kiss was gentle, even for Prince who harbored so much detest for his sister. There was nothing sincere or longing about the way Eiran kissed his sister. No, there was possessiveness in his kiss and Eiran was undoubtedly putting on a show for the other Prince who would most certainly be looking. 

And he was. 

Aegon’s heart clenched in anger. The Prince seen red like the day he had when Eiran has struck his sister in the small corridor of Frostmore. His heart imploded in sheer rage as he fought the twitch in his leg to rush over to the Princess and put her brother to the sword. All Aegon’s anger and rage swirled within his chest, the darkness it drew nearly swallowing him whole. The way Eiran kissed his sister disturbed him. The Prince could not turn away from watching how Eiran’s hand softened at his sister’s face and the other rose to her curvacious hip. He gripped it quietly. All the while, Eira did not fight him. 

But something dark and hateful had stirred deep in the Princess as well. Something that had been subjected to years of atrocity and violence at the hand’s of this twisted boy. The quiet disturbance stirred and stirred, bubbling within the darkest corners of the Princess’ empty and aching heart. It was so vile, so vengeful and utterly cold.

So, so cold. 

Eiran pulled from his sister slowly, allowing his lips to brush tentatively her own for a lingering moment. She tasted like the promise of power. The promise of a prophecy...something that only occurred every hundred years within House Neve. 

And he would have his bride—no, he would consume her and take what was owed to him by birthright. By the oath that Eldor Neve the First swore to abide for his children and theirs to come. She would surrender it, or he’d take it by force. Yes, Eira would comply... 

Or risk bringing the long night and death that came with it.

Eira’s eyes remained open while Eiran kissed her. She would never shut them. No, she wanted to look Eiran in his face so that he would know she did not fear him and that his touch, no matter how gentle, was the most vile and sickening thing she’d ever endured. But she would endure. The Princess would not cower in the face of animosity. In that moment, the Princess’ eyes held the most intense hatred they had ever held for her equal half. If she could’ve, she would’ve grasped her brother’s body and unleashed the frosted might she harnessed upon him. She would have gripped his pathetic body until he too, burst like the meager glass she had held in the grand hall before. 

Yet still, the Princess knew better. 

So instead, she hastily jerked away from his cold lips and uttered a hateful, death-promising remark, for his ears only. Without a final dueling word between the twins, Eira turned curtly and rushed as fast as her legs would carry her back toward the terrace doors. 

Aegon did not meet Eira’s eyes as she passed. He was too distraught, too unsettled for the sight he had been forced to bare witness. His hands were disturbingly tight at his side for fear if they were open, he’d tear Eiran’s throat from his head from the place he stood. 

Eira brushed past the Prince and Stark girl, her heart as empty and cold as her eyes told. She thrust the Keep’s doors open so roughly that they nearly broke from their hinges. The terrace doors slammed shut behind the Princess before Aegon could turn and call her name. At the last moment Eira had passed him, he yearned to. But the Prince was too upset, too angry to act sooner. 

So he’d lost his moment. 

Eiran watched the scene unfold with quiet satisfaction. He stood menacingly, triumph evident in his posture. He was proud—proud of how he had degraded his sister before an audience and how she had run off in shame. That would teach the little cunt. He smiled maliciously at the Prince, winking ever so curtly in his direction. Aegon’s chest heaved in rage as he absentmindedly grabbed Sansa Stark’s arm once more and turned her toward the terrace doors. He needed to leave. He needed to rid himself of this monster’s presence and Eira’s empty face that haunted his mind. 

The Princess...where had she gone? Aegon’s stomach churned uneasily at the thought of her. 

A single snowflake fell from the warm, capital sky and landed gently upon the Stark girl’s nose. Sansa flinched, uncertain if she’d imagined the familiar frozen dew, or if it had been something entirely else. She tilted her head to the sky and smiled in delight, her eyes wide in astonishment. “I can’t believe it! Look, my Prince!” She laughed, grabbing his arm that had tugged her away so stiffly. Aegon halted, his eyes wary and less than patient with the woman. He just wanted to go inside. Sansa smiled at him, her slender finger pointing slowly to the night sky. Aegon’s eyes followed her own as he too looked upward to the quiet and dark night sky. 

His eyebrows furrowed at once, eyes sharp in disbelief for what he’d just seen. Sansa smiled triumphantly at the Prince’s reaction as though she had garnered some merit for the unusual discovery. “Would you look at that...” Sansa whispered in awe of the strange scene. Her eyes held high of the Capital sky, relishing the familiar moment. 

“...It’s snowing”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to split this chapter in half or you’d all be reading for an hour! The next update will come very soon as a result. Thank you for the kudos and commentary, I am always curious to know what you guys think so far. More deception, sex and angst to come! The best ingredients for a thrilling read, lol.


	5. Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small and it inflames the great” —Roger de Bussy-Rabutin

In the days that followed Aegon’s name day celebration, the Capital had become eerily cool. 

The Capital of Westeros had been known for being overwhelming hot during its summers. Silk dresses scantily sheer and the sights of maidens shoulders boldly bare was usual. With autumn's kiss almost upon the Capital, the residents of the great city knew to expect the usual sweltering sun to dim some, and with it, the heat would fade to a quiet but complacent warmth. 

Yet that seemed to not be the case this year. 

The Capital bore a strange chill that tied its people early in warmer dresses and light furs. King Rhaegar had begun to start his mornings by gazing longingly at the city from his bedroom balcony. The uncommon cool breeze wisped lightly through the Dragon’s silver hair. He too, felt the subtle change in his bones. The King was born and raised in this city, despite spending some time as the Prince of Dragonstone many years ago. Yet, even the dark castle upon the secluded isle had held more warmth than his city had held in the following days. 

Queen Lyanna rose restlessly from she and her husband’s bed. It took a moment for her eyes to focus against the rays of sun that flooded their private chamber. The lack of warmth beside her had disturbed and ended her sleep prematurely. She peered sheepishly about her chamber in search of a familiar flicker of silver hair. But, she could not find it. 

Tiredly, the Queen rose from her bed and retrieved her robe from the bedside chair. Her body was bare and sore from the King’s urgent lovemaking the night before. She recalled his insatiable need for her after a grueling day of entertaining Lord’s and attending meetings with his councils. He had retired to their chambers earlier than usual, skipping his last meal. 

Alas, the King’s appetite was wet for something else. He took her roughly and many times into the rigid night, yet still, his hunger was scarcely quenched. Lyanna was unsettled at his unusual demeanor and ferocity in their bed. It was unlike the King who was usually tender and patient with her. When he rose for the last time from their bed, he did not leave a lasting kiss upon her lips. King Rhaegar had rose and retrieved his own robe, muttering his apologies before departing their chambers indefinitely that night. 

Peering around their still chamber, the Queen wondered if he had ever returned. Her eyes flickered to the King’s side of the bed that was still neat and tucked at its corners. The sight confirmed her thought—he had not come back last night. 

Something was ailing the King. 

Lyanna walked quietly to the bath chamber, curious if her husband had drawn himself some warmth to ease his tired mind. But the bath chamber was absent of the Targaryen King, too. Starting to become concerned, Lyanna returned hastily to the room and glanced about the elegant space. 

She sighed deeply, her mind finally finding peace. A soft breeze swayed gently their bedroom curtain from an open door. The sight had caught the Stark-born woman’s eye. Her husband was on their balcony, gazing quietly upon his city. Lyanna attempted to weather the King’s demeanor through the thin doorway, unsure if her morning greet would be ill-received. She knew her husband was distressed in maintaining peace within their castle walls, what with the many hostile Houses that occupied them. Still, the woman drew in a wary breath and smoothed her tousled hair that was still unkept and a disarray from Rhaegar’s haste the night before.

She walked quietly to the balcony and pushed the door completely open, remembering to be gentle. It creaked timidly, announcing her presence. She cleared her throat nervously, attempting a sincere smile for her troubled King. “Good morning, my love. How did you sleep?” She spoke gently, her heart unsure of how her husband would respond to her disturbance. 

Rhaegar flinched at her voice, confirming to the Queen that he was far beyond the moment he stood from. He turned his head quietly to the Queen, a smile unlingering on his aged face. Lyanna tensed at the sight, though the woman wished not to burden her husband any further with her own unease. “Good morning” he greeted simply, turning back to the skyline he peered so deeply upon. 

Lyanna ceased her steps, unsure if she should continue to impede on the King’s space. If he was in need of her presence or even wished for it, he likely would have sought her out. The she-wolf turned her sights to the skies that seemed to call so deeply to her husband. For a moment, she envied it, unsure what it had provided to him that was more enticing than her own company. 

Lyanna could see that her husband’s dragon, Rhaegal, had already taken flight for the day. Perhaps he was who the King leered so intensely upon. But when the Queen narrowed her eyes further, she could scarcely make out the silhouette of another beast at flight with him; no, not one. Two other beast...three dragons in Kinglanding’s skies. 

Lyanna’s breath held with increased wariness; the King’s siblings had arrived, Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen. “Is that Viserion and Daerion?” The Queen mused, attempting to put forth a cheerful tone for her husband. He was usually in high spirits when his brood were within his walls. Rhaegar did not turn to answer his wife’s inquiry. Silently, the King nodded his head. 

Perhaps it was the discussion that was held the week before with King Neve and his wife, that unsettled the King. Yes, with the conversation that had ensued and tension it birthed after, perhaps the reality of the King’s siblings being in the Capital unnerved him. Betrayal was on his mind and scant at his tongue. “They arrived this morning by dragon” King Rhaegar muttered quietly to himself more than his wife.

Lyanna nodded, though she knew the King would not see it with his back to her. “W-will you be breaking fast with our guests? Or perhaps your brother and sister?” She asked nervously, retreating back to the balcony door. She was suddenly anxious to return to their chambers and leave her husband be. Rhaegar inhaled deeply causing her to hold her breath. Had she upset him?

“Not this morn, my angel. I apologize, but I have much to prepare still for this evenings tourney. Please see to it on my behalf, that Aegon and Gendry are prepared for the event. I wished to sit in on their sparring this afternoon, but I will not be able to do so…” Rhaegar mumbled, finally turning to meet his wife’s wary eye. She smiled as true as her silently ailing heart would allow. Rhaegar sensed her fraudulence though he was in no mood to speak upon it. 

“Of course, my King” She bowed politely to her husband before turning to her chambers. Rhaegar withered at the choice title she bid to acknowledge him. 

He was making her uneasy. Still, the King could not bring himself to assure her otherwise. His mind was too preoccupied and at war. 

“Oh, and Lyanna…” King Rhaegar called before his wife could slip away from their tense exchange. The Queen turned swiftly, the strained smile still evident on her pale face. “The Lannisters and Baratheons arrived late last night. See to it that they are...as comfortable as need be. Jaime Lannister means to partake in the tourney as well, so he will require a private space to prepare” King Rhaegar’s voice came out harsher than he intended for the people that bore salt on his tongue. 

What had he done? Opened his walls to traitors and murderers. And for what? Honor? 

The fool.

Lyanna nodded meekly, turning away at once to fulfill her husband’s wishes. The Queen was in despair to admit it, but she was relieved to be rid of his strange and unaffectionate presence. The man she had just exchanged with was not the same she married. Who was he then, and what had poisoned him?

Madness? No. She rebuked the notion. Rhaegar was not mad. He couldn’t be...he was merely under pressure—yes, that is what it was...the Queen hoped as much, at least. 

King Rhaegar turned quietly back to the Capital skies, never wishing his wife a joyous day. He flinched at the swiftness that the balcony door had closed behind his young wife. She was silently cross—he could feel it. He exhaled a strained breath once more and observed the dragons in the sky. 

Rhaegal and Viserion had began a ferocious duel for dominance. 

—

The Red Keep’s feasting hall was grandly occupied, more now than it ever had been before. To anyone who was not a regular within the Keep’s walls, they would swear the King and Queen were hosting a dinner feast. The chamber was decorated in bright, vibrant colors with sigils of honorable Houses boasted proudly along isles. At the head of the grand hall was the Principle Table, or in other words, the Head Table where the Crown family would sit. The Keep had not forgotten who’s walls these were, as black and red banners boasting proud, ferocious dragons hung defiantly and with more fierceness than many other banners in the feasting hall. 

But nonetheless, the castle was host to many great family names and Houses across Westeros. House Tyrell, House Martell and House Stark were just a few of the noble names present among the attendees. Aegon’s name day celebration had been a grand feast, one of the most spectacular events to ever be held in Kingslanding, argued some. However, with only a few of the noble Houses invited to extend their stay in King Rhaegar’s city, it became quickly apparent that what was once disguised as a name day celebration, was in fact, the King and Queen seeking out the best potential bride for the Crown Prince, Aegon Targaryen. 

King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna since Aegon’s grand feast, had met with considerable House Lords and Ladies, discussing their terms in agreement of potential courtship opportunities, and of course, listened tentatively to what these Houses sought in return.

It did not take long for the news of the Crown seeking a match for the Prince to travel like silent wildfire across the country. Maiden’s who were dubbed official guest of the Crown, only boasted the finest silks, most exquisite gold and intricate hair pieces. Any and all luxurious dresses alongside jewelry were exhausted. Madam Belton, the Keep’s Master of Seams was unusually busy, what with contending with House Matriarchs for only the best of the best dresses. More silk, tighter bust, scantily sheer…The Crown Prince must see what he could have. 

Olenna, the Queen of Thornes made sure that her little, smirking rose Margaery was wound tight as ever in green and gold dresses with daring dips in the bodice. And if it was not her dresses that the woman kept slick, it was her clever tongue. Yes, the little rose knew her way around an endearing, witty comment that had even the sternest Lords blushing. 

Arianne Martell pranced around the Red Keep in sheer, Dornish red dresses that appeared to be made of only one continuous piece of fabric. Many Capital guest turned their nose up at the bold, desert beauty and her scantily thin dresses that left little to the imagination. Arianne was fierce and bold, often parading herself around the Keep’s training grounds and Kingsguard, beckoning the attention of the men who occupied both. They’d chuckle at the olive skinned beauty who’d whine and complain that she ought to have a turn at them. And when the Dornish girl got her chance at a training sword, she humbled the old men shamefully, smirking that they fumbled with their swords like they did their cocks. 

And Sansa Stark, the favorite among the Keep’s whispers to win Aegon’s hand. Some nobles complained that she had an unfair advantage. She was a Stark. Blood of the Prince’s blood—of course Rhaegar would do anything to appease his wife. Perhaps the Prince had similar taste for cold women like his King father. Alas, the wolf-maiden made sure to dress modestly and respectful of her House. Catelyn Tully made all of Sansa’s dresses herself, all blue and grey with trims of Stark-grey fur. Noble and full class. 

A bit prudish, in actually. Especially to those who stole a envious glance of the woman.

Cersei Baratheon sat quietly in a secluded corner within the grand hall. She was contently occupied with the presence of her three children. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen picked curtly at their meals as while their sharp-eyed mother observed the nobles around her and listened quietly to the chatter surrounding them. Many men and women began whispering from the moment the golden haired brood had entered the hall. 

Cersei stiffened at the quiet words that had begun to swim around the lioness and her cubs. Alas, the lioness refused to drown. She silently cursed the fat, drunk stag who was her husband, Robert Baratheon. It was the stag’s idea for her to bring the children down to the public hall to break their fast. Cersei had scowled at the request, arguing that he would only be subjecting them to ill-intended remarks and ridicule under hushed breath. The lioness though proud, was unnerved at the cruel glares her innocent cubs had been subjected to. 

It was all for nothing, really. Her children were not Robert’s and shouldn’t have to endure the pathetic cross that his slumped and useless shoulders bore. However, Cersei would not speak on that matter alone, ever. A sworn secret that would never meet the light of day, for she knew the scrutiny of her incestral truth would likely earn them all a ripe death. 

“Attempting to keep your figure slender, sweet sister?” Jaime Lannister remarked as he joined his twin and secret bedmate at the lonely table. The Kingslayer sat with a proud huff, retrieving a shiny, red apple from a golden plate at the center of the table. He ogled it for a moment, admiring its reflection—why wouldn’t he? It was only him he saw in it. Yet, as the lion peered closer, he was greeted with eyes—numerous, eyes peering at him through the reflection of the sinful fruit. He lifted his head, eyeing the nobles who leered scornfully upon his dishonorable presence.

He smirked, biting long and true into the innocent fruit, drawing forth an ominous crunch. The nobles dispersed at once as they realized they’d been made. 

Cersei’s emerald eyes cut like a knife through her birth counterpart. She scoffed silently at Jaime’s bravado, stroking her youngest cub Tommen’s crown. “You truly mean to make a show of your presence, dear brother” she remarked coldly, her eyes distributing a harsh and vengeful glow upon the many curious eyes that watched curiously her children. 

“Should I not? Would the noble, fair King expect anything less from housing a pride of lions? I am a creature of habit, Cersei” Jaime mocked, stroking his daughter Myrcella’s tuffles of golden locks. She looked so much of her mother, it alarmed the lion of Lannister. What if she was equally as malicious? No. Myrcella was pure and good natured. There was little if anyone drop of the lioness in her. Would that mean she was all Jaime, then? All, traitorous, abominable, Jaime Lannister? Cersei rolled her eyes silently at Jaime’s posture. His pride would be the end of their name, sooner than the lioness would like, too. 

Not before her father, Tywin Lannister could deal with these sheep...no, not a moment sooner and not a moment later would the lion have his feast. 

“The Queen searches for a bride. It is our only purpose— Cersei began boredly, straightening in her seat. Queen Lyanna. She growled internally at the title. It should’ve have been her and the woman would scarcely forget that fact. Jaime chuckled, his smile returning in slight of his sister’s sudden rigidness. 

“Do you truly believe Rhaegar would allow his son, his only heir to wed a maiden from the House that had a part in killing his father and indirectly his first wife and children? I assumed you for wiser, sweet sister” Jaime spoke curtly, unimpressed at the woman’s political stance. Cersei shot him a devious glare. She was becoming agitated with his presence. Jaime’s disregard and overcompensating cun was the reason her father had neglected to share his plans with the young lion. She frowned at the notion, yet became somber at its reality. 

It had to be done. Jaime had lost his Lannister luster over the years. 

The Kingslayer sighed in displeasure of his sister, realizing she had quickly grown tired of his silver tongue. He scoffed at the thought. Cersei only ever appreciated his tongue when it was between her milky thighs, anyway. 

“Where is your little beast of a brother? Word has traveled back to me that the mongrel, little imp has taken Petyr Baelish’s house of Whores as his bed…” Cersei suddenly interjected, her blood searing within the crevices of her chest at the mention of Tyrion Lannister. She had not seen the youngest lion since the birth of her only daughter, Myrcella. What with the way she had him thrown from Storms End when he attempted to gift the young babe a golden stag broach...her taste and his was left rather bitter and parched. Alas, Lord Tyrion had received the woman’s message loud and clear. After Tommen’s birth, he sided with merely sending a raven with his regards. Still, the lioness had the letter burned at her bedside before her hateful eyes when a wench came to present it. 

“Ah, yes. I would not expect any less of my dear brother. I do believe he is within the walls this morn, though. I heard a few wenches speaking of the ‘tiny lion with a big roar’, on my way to the feasting hall. Fret not, sister. I’m sure he will avoid you all the same” Jaime remarked smugly, his smile still prevalent upon his handsome face. He could never truly understand Cersei’s hatred for their brother. 

Lions were strongest within a pride and he loved his disfigured brood all the same. “And what of your husband, hm? I was quite surprised to hear he did not take up the same courtesies as Tyrion” Jaime’s face darkened in slight at the mention of the lioness’ husband. It was not unknown to Cersei his hatred and contempt he held for the old, fat stag. She wondered if he hated the brute because he had marital rights by oath to the woman. No, it was more than that. Robert Baratheon had cost Jaime—all the Lannister’s their gold, claim and future. 

Jaime’s future, more than their own, was lost. Yes, the foolish stag cost the lion his right to his children and worse, his one true love. Cersei. 

The feasting hall doors opened quietly, though drew forth a great lurch in their wake. 

Chainmail rattled silently as the Crown Prince entered the suddenly still and admiring scape. 

Jaime smirked amusingly at the sight. “Ah, the guest of honor!” he chuckled, drawing out an unnecessary syllable in mockery of his Prince. Cersei turned silently to Aegon who was flanked comfortably on either side with Royal Guards. She wrinkled her proud nose at the sight. 

“I see they kept Ser Barristan Selmy on their Guard. He gets older as the moons pass him. Are they even certain the old Knight can still move under that rusted mail?” Jaime’s chuckle escalated to a resentful laugh. Cersei grimaced at the cocky sound. A few folk surrounding the shunned Lannisters glanced curtly in their direction, hearing the quiet bouts of amusement.

Along with the few nobles eyes, was the young dragon’s grey leer. Cersei stiffened at the recognition as she exchanged an indifferent look with the Prince. She hushed her children who had begun to question her at her side. She did not wish to draw anymore unnecessary and hateful attention to her and her brood. The lioness could manage—even the Kingslayer. But her children...no, she wouldn’t allow the detest to flow their innocent way. 

Aegon observed the group of golden crowns that sat silently in the corner of the hall. The Prince was well aware of who these people were and what their presence meant in the Capital and to his family. Equally, he had knowledge of the type of patience his father must have kept to allow such a thing. Such a fair King…

He wondered if he would be the same, someday. 

Aegon sat silently at the head table of the room, though the Prince was the only one in attendance at the noble seat. His mother was about the Red Keep, organizing and ensuring that the evening tourney would go smoothly and as scheduled. His father on the other hand had remained absent and unheard from. 

Consequently, Aegon did not mind that he was alone to break his fast. In fact, the Prince was pleased with the rare occurrence. Since the fateful night he had exchanged words with Princess Eira and her scornful brother and witnessed their own exchange, he had limited his presence within the Red Keep—much to the maiden’s that contested for his attention dismays. 

The Prince’s week consisted of attending the necessary council meetings he was to oversee with his father and break bread with the matriarch and patriarchs who were the Crown’s guest. What was supposed to be a fair task of meeting eligible brides had manifested into a travesty of yearns and wagers of those same women’s maidenhoods. He cringed at the thought. Some nobles promised alliance, shared gain of goods, gold and a suitable heir to sit on the Iron Throne after the Prince. 

But it was all bullshit. Aegon had heard it all, throughout the week.

Courtship within the Crown was unnatural and the Prince was steadily growing impatient with the responsibility it bore on his shoulders. His mother sat in on every conversation between he and House nobles, reiterating her own requirements and expectations. The entire ordeal did not feel as though the Prince’s parents had his best interest at heart—his happiness. No, the politics of the courtships felt cold and emotionless and he could scarcely find an emotional connection with the women presented to him. It was something the Prince could and would not contend with. This was not how Aegon imagined meeting his future bride. And yet, through all the quiet objection he’d bid behind closed doors with his parents, he knew who they sought in this courtship conquest. 

Sansa Stark. Naturally.

She was a northerner like his mother and came from a noble House. The Stark’s were rulers of the north inside the Great Wall, and the vast, cold wasteland was home to many loyal Houses that swore allegiance to their reign as Warden. Some hailed the Stark’s as King in the north. Rhaegar Targaryen was much aware of this fact. The north was the largest territory, first to Dorne. And if King Rhaegar could secure it more closely, he would lose little sleep over his present worries of an uprising from within. 

So Aegon did as he was expected. He met as often and regularly as he saw fit and necessary with the northern beauty. Sansa was much pleased with this arrangement, her giddiness at the Prince’s arrival to her family’s quarters often revealing in itself. She’d whispered silently to any who’d listen, that Aegon was as infatuated with her as she were him and the Crown would soon be announcing their betrothal. 

But Sansa Stark was very incorrect—at least, in assuming the melody at which the Prince’s heart sang. Aye, she was never much so the last thought upon the Prince’s mind before he slept or the first when he awoke.

Aegon was still very much tormented by the memory of the Princess beyond the wall. Eira. Her name was a stain on the Prince’s indecent conduct and heart. He wanted her. He wanted the Neve woman so bad that the only way he could find peace before his rest, was to conjure memories of her touch and taste at his mind to ease him into sleep. 

And yet through all the Prince’s internal angst for the woman, Aegon avoided every instance he could be confronted with the girl. He knew she craved the feel of the earth’s breath upon her skin, so he evaded the terraces after dark. He knew she enjoyed a warming glass of wine to aid her slumber, so he steered clear of the feasting hall and libraries after the last meal had been served. Aegon exhausted all options in evading the frozen beauty, afraid that if he was confronted with her, he would not be able to stop himself from dishonoring her again.

But the Princess was there, oh yes, Eira was much alive in the Aegon’s conscience. Her memory alone was insufficient in satisfying the silent hunger he held for her skin, her touch, her soft breast and pink nipples, her wet cunt...her sweet, cold lips and angelic face. He yearned once more to hear the desperate little noises she’d expel when the Prince was deep inside her trembling swells. Eira was rough and fierce, cold and cruel...but when Aegon was inside her, she’d squirm, melting into foreign compliance for the dragon. 

The Prince was cursed by the Princess’ memory. The frozen, siren’s ballad screamed painfully at his yearning mind. It tortured him. Aegon was desperate to silence the indecent thoughts, so he evaded her at all cost, hoping it would do the trick. 

Before entering any chamber or terrace within the Keep, he’d often ask Gendry Baratheon who would usually accompany him, to ensure the space was unoccupied. He’d become so relentless with his request, that Gendry began to question his paranoia. It wasn’t long before the Crown Prince confessed to his brother the crimes and adultery he’d committed beyond the wall. 

Aegon admitted to taking the Princess many times throughout the two men’s stay at Frostmore. He admitted to devouring her cunt like a man starved and described the way she would drop to her knees before him in exchange...how the act was almost like worship but there were never any Gods present. He couldn’t forget her taste or the way she made him feel when he’d fill her in return. He worshiped her and the Princess worshipped him back. 

Gendry was in disbelief. And while he silently commended his brother, he grew wary at what his crimes would bring forth if discovered. For once, the stag was concerned of indecent conduct. He swore his life to protect the Prince’s secret, much aware of what would come to him if anyone found out. Eira was sworn to her brother, the Crown Prince of House Neve. If Eldor Neve knew what Aegon had done...

Gendry reassured he’d keep the Prince’s dark secret. And like the honorable and loyal brother he was, he looked out for him; checking corridors before the Prince walked within them, ensuring the terraces and halls were vacant of the frozen beauty. Aegon was appreciative, but he knew Gendry would not always be present to protect him. Much like he wasn’t on this morning.

Aegon ate his meal in silence within the feasting hall. He was alone at the vacant Head Table, though he appreciated the solitude it bore. While many maidens wooed to him from afar, he had instructed his Guard to not allow anyone to approach his bench. He had awoken from his slumber with increasing unease at the day’s events and the possibility of seeing his temptress. The Prince had much to ponder and prepare for mentally, on this day. This evening, the Keep would become a grand hold of his father’s tournament. Jousting, skills tests and dueling were on the agenda for the event, this eve. Aegon had trained relentlessly in the coming days, though his hands still quivered in uncertainty for the day’s event at breakfast. 

Sansa Stark sat contently at her own table among her family and northern guard. Her blue eyes flickered silently every so often to the Prince, hoping they’d be welcomed by his infamous, brooding glare. But he never met the woman’s eye. Sansa sulked at the fact, whispering to her maids that the Prince likely hadn’t noticed she was among the other ‘whores’ in attendance this morn. Still, through all the excited chatter, her eyes wandered curiously to the Prince who seemed reluctant to lift from his plate. 

Jaime Lannister observed the scene before him, chuckling internally at the sight that unfolded to him so willingly. He would have to be daft to not realize the Stark maiden was clearly, hopelessly infatuated with the Prince. Unlucky for her, it did not appear the Prince held mutual feelings for her. Jaime stroked the backs and manes of his secret cubs, whispering discreetly with his sister about the matter he watched. “They say Sansa Stark will be named victor in the conquest for the Prince’s royal cock. What of that?” Jaime smirked, wiping Tommen’s mouth that had begun to seep bland porridge. Cersei watched Jaime silently, her emerald glare flickering discreetly to the red-headed woman who seemed fixated on the dragon before her. She snickered at the sight. The girl was clearly in naive of the weapon she bore between those freckles thighs. It’d be the loss she never truly seen coming. 

“Sansa Stark will reign Queen someday...unfortunately” Cersei remarked smugly, sipping her tea. Jaime cocked a brow at the woman, hoping she’d carry fourth her commentary. 

“Queen Sansa...the soft and infantile. She’d lose the Kingdoms in a day if Aegon were ever to perish so valiantly” Jaime sipped his own tea at the remark. He observed the Prince peculiarly who had suddenly stopped picking at his golden plate. His hand held still the fork he had within his grasp, leaving it to float in the air with no indication it would revisit the partially full plate again. 

Aegon peered slowly from his seat at the lonely table. His brooding glare scanned discreetly the people before him who ate happily and jested amongst themselves. Overwhelming joy and laughter surrounded the Prince and yet, his eyes held no merriment for the noble’s company in return. His eyes found Sansa’s, though no affection radiated from them. Their eyes held for a moment. Sansa’s lips broke into a wary smile as she weathered the Prince’s own curious demeanor for her. Aegon furrowed his brows, clearly beyond the moment from where their eyes held. He looked away at once, never meeting the Stark maiden’s gaze again. 

“Westeros needs a powerful Queen and I fret to think the Stark’s are capable of breeding such a necessity. Look at Lyanna...smirking, silver-tongued girl. Yet, no witt behind the damsel. What would she have done if Robert won, hm? Hid? Of course she would’ve. How many died for her? Ser Arthur Dayne, one of the greatest Dornish swordsmen to ever live—gone, for honor to the little wench and her lover. And his sister, Ashara, taking her own life in despair of losing her brother. For who? The little wolf-girl whom she doted upon. A travesty...” Cersei muttered bitterly at the thought, though the malice in her heart bubbled over. 

It should have been her’s. The Crown—Queen, and everything that came with it...should’ve been Cersei Lannister’s. 

She still dreamt of killing the dark-haired bitch, every day and every night. Perhaps that was the only thing she held in common with her husband, Robert. They each shared an intolerable hatred for the King and Queen. Robert hated Rhaegar for stealing the Stark woman and Cersei loathed the Stark woman for stealing the King. Yes, the Queen had robbed the lioness of her promising future with the single bat of a grey eye and twist of her wild cunt. Cersei would scarcely forget the infraction…

The grand feasting hall lurched once more as another noble entered the room. 

The hall fell silent, the quiet whispers within it diminishing to a hum and eventual still as a peculiar woman walked quietly by herself into the tense scape.

Prince Aegon lifted his head at the quiet intrusion, though suddenly turned rigid in his seat as he dropped the fork he had once held in gravitation. His mouth parted in slight as slow shallow breaths escaped like wary hymns through his lips. He dropped his suddenly trembling hands to his lap, clawing and gripping anxiously at the fine leathers. 

It was her. Of course it was—only Eira could draw this type of vulnerability out of the man.

Eira entered the room silently, though her head was held high and unwavering at the nobles around her. Her hair was damp, cascading like wet silk down her shoulders and back that was deliciously bare in the dress she wore. It appeared the woman had just taken a bath before leaving her own chamber in search of sustenance. 

Sweet scents of jasmine and lily trailed behind her as she passed a few leering Lord’s who devoured the woman silently with their eyes. But the Princess did not waver at their attention. She was trained forward, focused and offering no one any gratitude or graces as she walked forward in the hall. Many men and women bowed their heads in respect of the Neve Princess, unwilling and unworthy of meeting her icy, blue eyes. Many people trembled in fear of the girl, much aware of who she was and what family she belonged to.

House Neve...The throne beyond the wall. 

Eira continued forward, unblinking to those before her that continued to whisper. She wore a sheer, lilac dress that clung indecently to her curvaceous figure. It was scantily thin and unusual compared to the regular gowns she would ordinarily wear. Perhaps the woman had had it made during her stay in Kingslanding to help her blend with the other maidens. Eira’s face was stoic and firm, unpleasant to most and intimidating to all who gazed upon the strange beauty. 

It was clear that the Princess’ mere presence alone commanded the attention and respect of the people who encompassed the room. 

Jaime Lannister cocked a golden brow, his lips lifting in amazement for the woman he’d heard of, but was finally blessed to witness in the flesh. She was daringly beautiful, perhaps even more than his sister—though Jaime was wise enough to not comment upon the fact. Her hair was the fairest shade of blonde that ironically seemed to resemble tendrils of snow. Her eyes enchanted the lion as he became mesmerized by their haunting, blue glow. The Princess was truly divine. “You see that, sweet sister? That...is a Queen. They tremble in her presence, none dare to meet her eye…” Jaime muttered, observing the woman approaching an unoccupied table that stood at the center of the room. 

Cersei snorted at her brother’s comment, though the lioness would be daft to not admit the woman was truly aweing to gaze upon. 

Eira walked with grace, her hips swaying effortlessly as she halted to stand before the empty table. She began drumming her slender fingers impatiently on the polished wood, her mind and motive held in silence to those around her. Without a word, her eyes lifted, falling upon the Prince who sat in silent unease at her presence, a few feet in front of her. 

When was the last time had met Aegon’s eye so willingly? Eira could not recall, nor did the woman truly care. She held his gaze for a moment, her own brewing a silent contempt that was all too familiar between the pair. She reached forward slowly, never dropping her hateful glare with the Prince and retrieved an apple that sat modestly at the top of a fruit bowl upon the table. She held it limply between her fingers, eyeing the Prince mockingly. 

Him. 

Slowly, she drew the apple to her plump lips and bit sharply into the fruit. All the while, her ice blue eyes never left Aegon’s grey ones. Without a word, she turned on the same heel that had galavanted her so smugly across the hall. She retreated toward the hall entrance, thrusting the doors open with such ease, it appeared mocking-like. Eira departed as quickly as she had arrived, never uttering a word or bow of respect in anyone's direction. 

Why should the woman show gratitude to those around her? They were not her people, they were not even folk who were bred of the same northern blood. They never would be. She was a guest of the Kingdom south of the wall and its inhabitants were beneath her. Prince Aegon too, was beneath her. At least, that’s what she told herself and where she liked the Prince to be. The quiet truth of the matter unnerved the silent beauty. Why did the Dragon Prince bewitch the maiden’s mind?

Aegon rose from his somber seat, his hands rising to grip roughly at the table he had once sat peacefully in solitude at. He was rattled by the woman’s surprise arrival within the hall. More so, he was irritated at her smugness and lack of acknowledgement towards the Prince. Eira was defiant, ignorant and cruel—how he wished to teach the girl a lesson she’d scarcely forget. Aegon imagined for moment stalking after the girl and pushing her against a wall. He fantasized gripping her soft, milky thighs and thrusting her from the ground she stood so cockily from. He yearned to rip her small clothes from her warm, wet cunt and shove himself between those sinful folds and listen to the sound of her surprise and disagreement at the action. 

But he knew deep down, she wouldn’t disagree. She would likely scream her agreement along with her thighs.

Aegon flinched at the erotic thoughts that had begun to smolder and fester within his conscience. The siren had a way of exasperating his deepest urges and eliciting such distasteful images within his mind...it alarmed the Prince. Sometimes the boy could not fathom how they were his own fantasies. Had his father not taught him better of how to treat a woman? Who was this Prince who thought so vividly of violating a maiden? It wasn’t like he was choosing to act upon the heinous images at his mind. Did that make him innocent then?

But Aegon knew he would act upon his desires if the Princess allowed it. Oh, the Prince would, over and over again if Eira agreed. His poor mother...bless her heart if she ever knew the sinful things that would siege the Prince’s mind about the betrothed beauty. 

The Prince leapt from his seat in unfamiliar urgency, uttering a barely comprehensible command for his Guard to remain and leave him be. Aegon staggered down the stairs beside his table and fled with hidden intent down the walkway that led to the chamber’s doors. Quickly and shamelessly, the dragon stalked after the frozen beauty, leaving the rest of the nobles who had witnessed the silent exchange between the two to contemplate their position on naming Sansa Stark as Aegon’s choice and victor for bride. 

Jaime Lannister smirked, stumbling over an amused and poorly concealed laugh. This was quite interesting to witness. The lion snorted, imagining for a moment that he was watching history repeat itself. Cersei turned to her brother, her brow cocked in annoyance for his sudden display of amuse. He waved her off, smiling silently at the scene before him. Like father, like son. 

And it would surely spark another war...

“I suppose I am not the only one to realize what a Queen looks like” Jaime commented with a toothy grin. He winked at his sister who’s face had melted into quiet recognition of his word. She too, began to smirk maliciously. 

Aegon thrust the hall doors open in urgency. Had he taken too long? What if he missed her? Aegon felt as though he was back at Frostmore, anxiously awaiting to catch a glimpse of the woman within the frozen courtyard. His heart began to beat vigorously within his chest as he marched between castle wenches and servants who had begun filing in and out of the hall with food and wine. 

Aegon turned his head swiftly from side to side, searching for Eira among the sea of habitants that littered the busy Keep’s halls. The Keep was an unusual bustle of many individuals preparing the castle for the tournament in a few hours. The sight unnerved the Prince. 

Finally, after the man had begun to lose hope, he caught a vague flicker of white hair and swaying hips covered in sheer lilac. The sight excited and enraged him at the same time. It was like the Targaryen dragon that lived within the Prince had awoken at the sight of the woman and all he could contemplate was how to get her alone in a secluded corridor and fuck her hateful, delicious body against a cold, brick wall. 

“Eira!” Aegon called after the girl, hushing his heinous thoughts. His voice was harsh and above the necessary volume to retrieve the woman’s attention. 

Eira turned curtly to the boy who bid for her presence. She wore a confused expression upon her face, though underneath it, there was nothing actually confusing about the man’s voice who had called to her. Eira knew it was him. As a matter of fact, the woman hoped from the moment she had exchanged that hateful look with the boy inside the hall, that he would come marching from his seat in search of the Princess. 

And the Prince had satisfied her intent.

“Jon” Eira acknowledged, turning completely to face the Dragon Prince who had slowed to a halt only a foot before her. Her cruel glare washed skeptically over the man as she took in his fine silks that were boldly red and black. She cocked a brow at the Prince, amused at the sight. She was use to seeing him in chainmail and armor, butchered and cut. Yet this sight of the man was something entirely more appealing to see. She hated it.

Aegon looked like the Crown Prince he actually was and not so much the soldier he resembled many moons ago. It was a fair look, though Eira would be damned before she admitted it to him. Aegon caught the woman’s wondering eye and became uncomfortable under its presence. “Stop that. If someone hears you refer to me as anything but my title, they will assume a different temperament of our relationship” Aegon warned, his own eyes flickering over the woman’s body. She looked ravishing in that pretty, little dress. Oh, how he desired to rip it from her soft skin. 

“Of course, Prince Aegon,” Eira straightened, nodding in agreement, though the Prince could sense the mocking undertone within her words. “I would hate for your betrothed...What was her name, your cousin? Ah, yes, Sansa Stark. Yes, I would hate for her to realize that I am your past lover...Sorry, not lover. We never loved one another. I was your bedmate. I wonder if you will be thinking of my cunt whilst you fill her own on your wedding night” Eira mused emotionlessly, tilting her head to the side to peer maliciously upon the Prince. 

The Princess wanted to unnerve the man with her slick words, yet she couldn’t understand why. A foreign anger had begun to churn within her chest from the night she found out the Prince was in search of a wife. It damn nearly imploded when the rumors of him and Sansa Stark had found her ears, too. 

Eira smirked when she realized she had aggravated the Dragon Prince. She bit her bottom lip gently and gave it a seductive tug between her teeth. “Do try and refrain from calling my name when you are filling her cunt with your warm seed”

Aegon stiffened and turned red at the Princess’ choice words. They aroused and enraged the Prince at the same time—it was maddening. He turned quietly to his side to observe if any wenches or servants had heard the two’s exchange, or worse, the Princess’ remarks. He released an anxious breath, relieved to see that no one had noticed their quiet duel. Still, a few eyes lingered upon the pair, despite their hushed nature. Aegon discreetly shifted away from the few curious looks and turned to peer harshly upon the woman before him. Abruptly, the Prince grabbed Eira’s arm and forced her down a hall that lay to their side. Eira flinched at the roughness at which the man held her, unsure if she had finally pushed the Prince into the familiar Targaryen-madness she’d heard rumors of. 

Aegon shoved Eira roughly against the closest wall to them, earning a hiss from her beautiful lips. He held her there for a moment as his eyes flickered with impatience and irritation for her lack of discretion. “This is what you wanted, am I correct? You wanted to upset me by speaking such filth and indecency toward me. Are you satisfied?” Aegon whispered roughly, stepping closer to the woman. 

The Prince’s chest heaved in rage and his grip tightened upon Eira’s bare arm. “So hateful and malicious. You are the source of my madness...I will be damned before I lose my mind at the cause of your...your filthy, tasteless, silver-tongued…” Aegon breathed exasperatedly, stepping closer to the woman. He could finally smell it—her. The jasmine and lily that sat pleasantly upon her skin had begun to swallow the Prince’s senses and drown his rationality. He could taste it...he was so close—too close. He knew better—he should’ve, known better. Aegon’s feet moved mechanically against his better judgment as he stepped as close as their bodies would allow. “You are terrible and vile, cruel. I wish I could just...fuck that little, hateful smirk off your face” the truth slipped from the Prince’s lips before he could retrieve it. It shocked him for a fleeting moment, the second he heard himself speak. His grey eyes searched Eira’s for a flicker of fear or rage at his comment, but he never found it. 

Truthfully, he didn’t care even if it was evident upon the girl’s face. He didn’t care if he had upset her. She was the worst and most delicious thing that he had ever been cursed to know so well. Eira’s devious smirk never dissipated from her plump lips as she glared upon the Prince. It was too easy—Aegon made this all too easy, for her. She was angry with the Prince and had been so for many moons. The way he just left Frostmore without uttering a word or goodbye...the way he disregarded her after taking her so many times. And still, after all that treachery, he still didn’t respect the woman enough to tell her the truth that hid behind his nameday celebrations.

Eira wanted to torment the Prince for as long as her presence within his castle walls would be allowed...Much like his memory had tormented her even after he had departed her’s. 

“Oh? Is that so, Prince Aegon,” Eira whispered, leaning forward from the cold brick wall at which he held her. She pressed her body against the young dragon’s, feeling him twitch at the sensation she drew. “You hate me so much that you want to fuck the malice from my body?” 

Eira smirked widely, eyeing the Prince coldly. “When was the last time a woman made you feel...good? You are so tense, dear boy” Eira whispered, pulling her arm from Aegon’s grip with such ease, it was like he never held her. “Oh, the Prince must be so distressed. So many noble cunts to pick from. How terrible this must all be” Eira whispered into the Prince’s ear, as she rose on the tips of her toes to meet it. She placed her hands gently on the man’s chest, dragging them sensually along it and down his rippled abdomen that was hid pathetically beneath his tunic. She hated how good he felt. Eira moved closer to the Prince, peering back into his mesmerized, grey orbs; they were her favorite part of him, though she would not dare speak of it. 

Eira pressed herself against Aegon, feeling a familiar tingle from the sensation of his perfectly, sculpted body brushing her aroused and sensitive nipples. Her dress was so sheer and thin, she could feel everything from him. Oh, how good he felt. She hated how much he made her body tremble at even the most innocent touch. 

Aegon closed his eyes at the feel of her full breast against him. His heart began to storm within his chest as heat rose from the pit of his stomach and began to smother him from the inside out. His hands, still and honorable at his sides, had begun to twitch as he fought the instinct to cup her tender mounds between his calloused hands and tease her nipples tenderly. He knew she loved when he did that. 

“I hope your betrothed feels this good on your wedding night. I hope she’s as soft and inviting” Eira muttered into the nape of Aegon’s neck. Her lips brushed sensually across his bare skin, turning it to goose flesh. Aegon inhaled a sharp breath at the gesture; she knew it was one of his most sensitive spots. Eira gently ran her hands down the Prince’s rigid and stiff arms and took hold of his hands. Slowly, she pulled them upward, guiding them along her hips and up the front of her stomach. 

Aegon felt his cock twitch at the sensation of her body beneath his hands, so close and yet, so far—almost obtainable from beneath thin silk. His lips parted as though he wished to utter a disagreement but only silence drew forth in its place. Eira held the Prince’s gaze as she pressed his hands more firmly against her body, dragging higher and higher until they finally rested on her breast. She closed her eyes at the sensation of his hands upon her, allowing her head to fall backwards slightly in relief. So many moons...so many nights she recalled this feeling, wishing she could have it just one more time. 

Aegon watched her silently, mesmerized by the wave of pleasure that had washed upon her face. He sucked in a haste-filled breath, feeling her squeeze his hands over the warm, round mounds and caress. And soon, she ceased in directing the man, as the Prince began to massage the woman’s breast on his own. Eira squirmed and writhed under the Prince’s grasp that had at first, started slow and uncertain. But soon, his hands moved with greater urgency and need. Aegon was unsure of his actions and what he intended by them but knew he must act on the feral instinct; it was the dragon within him that hissed it’s desire. The Prince’s hands fell into a comfortable rhythm against the woman’s bosom. Eira inhaled deeply, savoring the way Aegon touched her and how he made her feel; it was overwhelmingly good. 

The young dragon stepped impossibly closer to the Princess, feeling his throbbing erection rub against the front of his pants. His left had dropped from the woman’s breast and began to stroke desperately back down the front of her body with the same intensity she had done so prior. Lower and lower it trailed until it found its resting place atop her womanhood. Aegon pressed his fingers inward into the dip of her pelvis, tracing the modest outline of her warmth and searing folds through the thin dress. His grey eyes flickered to the woman’s face as he awaited a sign of approval and pleasure to cross it. Eira bit her lip in response to his tender touch. Gods, she hated how he made it all feel so heavenly. 

The Prince squeezed the woman’s breast that still remained within his opposite grasp, feeling her twist in response to the stimulation he bid. Aegon’s hand lifted from Eira’s cunt and rose mechanically to grip the buckle of his belt on his pants. He began to fumble it, the quiet clinking of the metal providing a tense melody within the barren hall. The Prince was in a trance, barely in control of his actions. The only thing he could rationalize in this moment before him, was how desperately he wanted Eira and how much the few, simple touches he’d just taken had not been enough. The Prince needed more. He absentmindedly pulled at the clasp, attempting to release the swollen and yearning erection that whispered it’s own desires at the back of his mind; it wished to be reacquainted with Eira’s womanhood. And when a lustful moan escaped from Eira’s lips in frustration and impatience, Aegon nearly acted on his prior fantasy he had conjured mere moments ago before finding her in the castle halls. 

The Prince retracted his hands from Eira’s body with such overwhelming urgency, the woman thought she had burned him with her frosted magic. She bent her head forward once more, a defiant smirk triumphant upon her lips. “Am I not your preference anymore, Jon?” She remarked mockingly, observing the rigidness in the Prince’s demeanor as he stepped steadily away from the woman. 

Aegon straightened his posture, scolding himself for being so weak in Eira’s taunting presence. He knew better—he had always known better. Perhaps Eira would always hold something strange over the Prince, something he could scarcely fathom...but he could not let that interfere with his conduct. Not with so many eyes upon him. 

His mind flickered to his parents and their disapproval if they knew what he had done, or where he was at this very moment. He thought of King Neve and the respect the great man held for the Prince—the same Prince who had dishonored his daughter under his distracted eye. Gods, if the truth ever surfaced of Aegon’s indecent conduct...it would be his head and spark a war between the two allied Kingdoms. 

Aegon couldn’t...he wanted to, Gods, he probably needed to...but he just couldn’t. “I apologize Princess but I must leave to prepare for this eve’s tournament. I will see to it that you and your family are grandly tended to during your stay in the Capital. I wish you...good fortune and happiness. I do not wish for my previous lack of honor to spoil your nuptials to come. I swear if I had known, I would have acted with more discretion. My apologies, my lady. If you’ll excuse me…” Aegon rambled, not truly believing any word that poured from his lips. 

He could hear the mechanic speech falling helplessly from his tongue and cringed at the haste at which they landed. And even though the Prince knew the voice that left his lips to be his, he didn’t believe it—he didn’t believe the man who was speaking. Still, despite the fact, he knew he had to. Aegon took another involuntary step from the stoic woman whose eyes bore into him silently. He searched Eira’s gaze, attempting to find any trace of emotion within them. 

But he couldn’t. She was blank and unreadable. 

Aegon watched as the Princess straightened her own posture and clasped her hands silently in front of her. “Of course, Prince Aegon. Good luck today. May the Gods hold favor in your victory” she replied simply, stepping away from the cold, brick wall. It was the first time the Prince had heard the woman speak with any political mutuality. Aegon watched in silence as the woman turned and stalked away down the empty corridor. He watched her for a few seconds longer than needed, allowing himself a final moment of indulgence in feasting upon her figure. He would not—could not, slip again. He then turned too and marched onward, not looking back to see if she had made it around the bend of the ominously still hall.

The rest of the day passed stealthily within the Red Keep and soon, day had turned to gentle eve and announced the beginning of the tournament in its wake. 

The skies over top of Kingslanding were a vibrant display of sunset oranges and red that gave the illusion of the clouds being set ablaze. The Dragon Pit of the Red Keep had been transformed beyond recognition into a grand stadium with spectating bleachers and balconies that overlooked the historic scape. The place itself was overwhelmed with men and women who cheered loudly for their Houses and Knights who competed valiantly in honor of the Prince’s name day celebrations.

King Rhaegar sat proudly at the Head Spectating Balcony with his wife, Queen Lyanna Stark. They were among the many nobles who cheered valiantly and applauded chosen competitors for each House. Aegon was among the many Knight’s competing in the tourney. He had won a few competitions and was somewhere within the Pit preparing for the final display, the Crown Duel.

The King and Queen ate decadent foods and sipped only the finest wines. They wagered joshingly amongst themselves of who would be victorious in the Duels. Rhaegar had put his best coin to his own son, while Lyanna cheekily suggested the victor to be Gendry. “He is much distracted today,” Lyanna chuckled, watching the intermission of court jesters. “I found him in his room pacing quietly beside himself. He hadn’t even put on his armor...nor would he allow me to assist. I wonder what ales my son today” Lyanna whispered to her King, grasping his hand. 

Rhaegar raised a brow in indifference to his son’s peculiar demeanor. A few wenches and Maesters had already came to the equally troubled King, bidding the same curiosity for the Prince. He waved off their concerns naturally, chalking the boy’s erratic behavior to nerves for the eve’s event. 

“Perhaps the pressure of presenting his winning roses to a maiden is what troubles him, my love. It is known that whomever the Prince gifts his roses to, will likely be named as his betrothed. I would think the reality of no longer being a bachelor is troubling our son. I know Gendry is already in mourning” King Rhaegar laughed at the instance, turning to quietly peck his wife’s cheek. Lyanna scoffed silently at the King’s remark. Perhaps, the man was right. Surely, he had been a young boy once and felt undoubtedly the same pressure. Lucky for her, Rhaegar’s choice was obvious and rewarding. 

Yet unlucky for others, it had turned out to be.

Possibly, there was another reason the Prince was so seemingly unnerved that day. 

“The Crown truly spared no expense, my King. Something tells me though, this was the radiant Queen’s doing” King Neve boomed, swatting his leg in amusement for a jester who threw himself into a bucket of filth. “Eiris, where is your feral daughter, Eira? She has been missing nearly all the tournament! She has always enjoyed the spectacle of clowns” Eldor questioned with little amuse. The Frozen King gulped the last of his chalice, snapping at a wench to replenish it at once. The rigid woman flinched at the man’s bravado and leapt to appease his thirst. 

King Neve and his brood were guests of the southern King and Queen for the day’s tournament. They were given adjoining seats in line with Rhaegar and Lyanna. Eireena and Eiran sat silently below their parents. Neither Neve sibling moved or displayed a fraction of joy for the banter before them. Eireena watched curiously in silence of the Knight’s who competed valiantly. She scoffed internally at the fact that Eiran refused to be apart of the tournament. He claimed he would not be bothered to frolic with children who were training with wooden pegs over swords. But, the youngest Neve believed her elder brother was actually intimidated by the burly men around him. He would not be made a fool in front of these peasants. A shame, truly. The girl would’ve enjoyed the sight of the Prince being knocked about for a bit. A taste of his own medicine, perhaps.

“Oh, love, Eira has gone to fetch another glass of wine. She curses the serving girl’s who spend all their time attending to Lords and evading our balcony. I’m sure she will return soon...” Eiris muttered in forced pleasure. She turned back to the spectacle before her, never meeting her husband’s eye again. The woman was rigid. It was not completely untrue, her remark in Eira’s absence. 

Eira’s taste for the keg was rather insatiable. It had become almost unquenchable for just over a year now. The Princess would indulge heavily at night in her wine, hoping it would soothe her mind and will it to sleep. Eiris chilled at the secret knowledge she held of her eldest daughter. Her husband was aware of the matter. King Eldor has heard the reports of his wife over the years and recalled the frightening accounts retold my Eira’s handmaids. Still, he’d shush the ramblings before they could continue and disturb the man further. He was aware of his daughter’s demons. More so, he was aware of who those demons had manifested into and why they sieged the woman so relentlessly. 

Over the many moons that had passed in the years, Eira had suffered from vivid night terrors. They haunted the Princess, plaguing her sleep and keeping her awake most nights with no promise of relief. She was scarcely ever comforted by her mother’s words, even as a child. By the time she had matured, she ceased in seeking the woman out to provide a motherly word of hope. 

Maesters gave the Princess ancient herbs and oils to ingest before bed, yet still, they provided no relief of her nocturnal torment. As a result, the Princess evaded any instance of rest, concluding it would only open her up to more terror. The woman had been silent of the matter for as long as she could remember. As a small girl, Eira would dream late at night of winter storms so petrifying, she could barely comprehend the land around her. Memories of agonizing moaning and frozen skeletons that walked among the living sieged the Princess’ conscience as she slumbered. In her dreams they marched to her with flailing bodies that dragged ominously across frozen wasteland.

The Princess could never move or run from the impending doom in her dreams. Somehow her body would become paralyzed in the frost she stood within. What was always so inviting and flexible to her will, had suddenly become her captor. She’d jerk her body and writhe against the invisible force that held her, yet still, she was unsuccessful in freeing herself. Her mouth would become firm and unwilling to part and aid her with a worthy scream. Eira was always barefooted, barely concealed in a white night robe. When she got older, the nightgown manifested to a thin silken strip of lingerie. The woman never felt the cold of her dreams that radiated around her slender and bare figure. Naturally, she never did feel the cold. It was like the sensory of her brain responsible to supplying discomfort of frigid temperatures was nonexistent and unresponsive to the wasteland that birthed her. 

On and on, closer and closer the dead would stalk towards her paralyzed figure. Their eyes were as blue as her own, so much so, she wondered if she were hallucinating past ancestors of her name who had perished in the wars before her. She’d tremble in her sleep, often times wetting herself before she would wake. The bed-wetting never disappeared as she grew. But, they did occur less often than not. Eira would sometimes still wake in a cold sweat, her legs wet and bed damp with human filth. She’d cry silently for the vivid dreams and humiliation that felt too real and too purposeful. 

What did they want from her? 

And just before the dead would reach her and undoubtedly slay the woman, they’d halt their decaying step. Silence would wash between the wasteland that held the two entities, the living and the dead. 

The dead would drop silently to their knees before the Princess. They would fall with their creaking bones to their knees with rotting arms stretched forward in strange worship of the Princess. Her heart would thunder and race under her parched, frozen flesh as she’d gaze upon them. Her feet would finally free from the ground that held her in contempt and rage. The Princess would turn in a fright, ready to flee from the dead that hailed to her as though they were the blood of her blood. Just before the woman could turn and run away from their haunting blue eyes indefinitely, she’d crash into the chest of someone or something who had stood so silently behind her the entire time. Perhaps, it was he who the dead worshipped and had fell to their knees for. 

He...a man whose body was scaled in frost and death and bore eyes just the same as hers and all the dead before them. He was death; he was, the Night King. And he would grab the girl, burning her with hands like talons that were so cold and malicious. The sensation of his touch could only attest to what she had likely done to her own brother numerous times in her life. Except, when this King of the Dead took hold of her slender arms, it felt real. His touch was beyond her night terror. It felt like his presence was real before her and he had found her once more at the cusp of her conscience like he had always done her entire life. 

It was as though he was waiting for her. 

The Night King would draw his frozen arms upon his head and withdrawn his crown of bones and ice…

...And place it upon Eira’s head. 

The Princess would wake, screaming from another night terror that had taken hold of her mind and sieged her innocence with hymns of death by ice. And, some nights her mother would come to her, finding her distraught and damp with wet upon her chamber floor. The Queen would whisper into her daughter’s soft waves that it was only a dream and that he was a manifestation of listening to keenly to the tales of old wenches. The Dead King would not come for her. 

Most nights though, Eira’s mother would not come to her and it only reassured the Princess that it was not a fantasy as she had been told. 

The Dead King was real and he was coming for his Queen. 

Eira returned quietly to the balcony that held her parents and Royal hosts comfortably. The Princess was bathed in the finest jewels and gold emblems with her hair brushed precise and cascading down her back and over her bare shoulders. Her dress was the most form-fitting gown she had ever worn. It was wound of the most vibrant, blue silk that made it appear as though the seamstress had spun it straight from the night sky. Eira silently questioned her mother’s choice in attire for her. Her bodice was cut remarkably low and the sides of the gown were cut out defiantly, displaying her milky, white skin for all to feast upon. Perhaps the Princess too was for sale in the Capital, it would seem. 

“Eira, finally, come now, my angel. Sit with your father” Eldor Neve called, ushering his daughter forward to the vacant seat at his side. He patted the small of her back when she met his place, gleaming at her with pure love and adoration. The King would not dare speak it, but Eira was undoubtedly his favorite—his fiercest and strongest child. “Did you find what you were in search of?” The King questioned his daughter, gesturing to the already half diminished chalice she held. Eira nodded quietly, turning back toward the Pit that had begun to clear out for the first duel. 

King Rhaegar eyed the Princess discreetly from the corner of his violet eye. He had silently been observing the woman over the duration of the week since his ally north of the wall had arrived in his Capital. 

The Dragon King was not unaware of the quiet chatter that surrounded the woman and his son. Many nobles had bid his ear of the fleeting glances the two would exchange whenever they occupied the same space. Rhaegar dismissed the rumors, warning his guests that they spoke of the Crown Prince, his heir and their future King. Still, there were a few Lords and Ladies with silver tongues who questioned the King’s intent of hosting the Princess and her family. Some wondered why King Neve journeyed beyond the wall in the first place; it was not unknown that the Frozen King scarcely ever left his throne. Perhaps, secret nuptials were on the horizon. Rhaegar dismissed those rumors too, his temperament flaring for the indecent remarks. 

Still, the King was uneasy at the Princess’ unknown influence upon his son. What exactly had been the extent of Aegon and Eira’s relationship over the year he resided at Frostmore? This was a crucial time in the Prince’s life and Rhaegar had done more than enough reinforcing of he and his wife’s expectation for their son. Aegon had been groomed for his royal duty—even if it was against his will. And yet still, the King could not rid himself of the quiet fester at his mind that told him to be wary of the invisible force Princess Eira seemed to hold over his son. 

And when Aegon entered the Dragon Pit in wake of his first match, his suspicions had been reinforced. The Prince was stoic and unmoving at the chants and cheer of his name that had erupted in the pit upon his arrival. Aegon’s eyes were focused and terribly hard as though he were concentrated on a quiet haunt behind his ear, unheard to those around him. Yet, before the Prince put on his helmet to prepare for the duel, his eye flickered silently to the balcony the King and Queen sat upon. “Look, love! Aegon watches us. Give your boy a wave!” Queen Lyanna mused, standing to cheer for her only son. 

But Rhaegar did not stand with his wife; no, the King was silent. He knew. He knew in his heart, it was not them that his son peered so intensely upon. It was more likely that the young dragon could not even see his parents through all the celebratory cheer. 

The King and Queen were a mere speck of dust afloat on the moment that truly held him hostage. 

The Prince could only see one person through all the chaos and madness of the Dragon Pit. His grey eyes resided on the figure so astoundingly. 

Eira.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! Exam season has come to an end and I am happy to say, I have re-obtained my freedom and with it, some steamy, weekly updates. Happy reading!


	6. Blood Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you enjoy the fragrance of a rose, then you must accept the thornes which it bears” — Isaac Hayes

How is it possible to resent yet yearn for someone so deeply at the same time? The Prince’s infatuation towards his temptress Eira existed along two opposing ends of a spectrum that both spun simultaneously, tipping the axis of the reality in how he felt for her. 

Duty and desire plagued the boy.

Aegon’s mind was permanently tormented since the day he’d encountered Eira. His reality did not fare any easier since the arrival of the woman and her family within the capital nearly a week ago. In fact, the mere reality of their presence had exasperated Aegon’s misfortune. The Prince couldn’t comprehend how the frozen beauty had crept so stealthily and undetected into the vulnerable sanctuary of his mind, nor why he could scarcely find the will to rid himself of it’s torment. Perhaps, Aegon did not truly desire to free himself of the woman. Not mentally...most definitely not physically, either. Alas, maybe the boy enjoyed the seismic whirl at which the axis in his mind churned under her presence. Perhaps the God’s had taken a chance re-toss on the young dragon’s fate and overall nature. 

Perhaps he was truly more mad than great.

It must be true then—the carousel never stops turning, does it? 

There was something sweet about the self-torture that Prince Aegon subjected himself to daily. Eira was the taste that he could never deny, nor the thirst that would ever quench. Eira had consumed the boy indefinitely. It didn’t take much to send the dragon into a frenzy; a glimpse of snow white hair, swaying hips and eyes as sharp and clear as glacier ice. The Prince indulged quietly, but relentlessly; and more so, he did it secretly. 

What would the people speak of if they knew Rhaegar and Lyanna’s son felt short of inheriting his parent’s so called ‘honor’? Worse, what would they think?

And what of the girl’s family? Aegon knew he would be a damn fool to believe his infraction upon the Princess would go unpunished. It would be his head. An affair with the Crown Princess beyond the wall who was sworn to her brother? Blasphemy.

Why couldn’t he simply refrain from searching for the cynical presence that was Eira? What was it about the Princess that made the Prince’s throat run dry and barren, lacking any intelligent word or breath of reason when it would part?

Why him? 

Better yet, why her?

Perhaps, the two star-crossed lovers were cursed beyond their own knowledge. Perhaps fate had sunk its claws into the young dragon and his siren and damned them from the moment their eyes met.

Perhaps...

Eve swept slowly under the Kingslanding’s warm autumn sun. Prince Aegon competed valiantly in the tournament of his name day and Prince Aegon won honorably—the young dragon moved within a trance that he could not wake from. He was effortless in his skills, easily defeating even the most difficult of challenges that tested not only his marksmanship but his agility and intelligence. 

The crowd cheered for the Prince, mesmerized by his skill with a steel in hand. Many spectators marveled at Aegon’s presence within the stadium. The way the boy moved and would strike his target was utterly poetic; he was undoubtedly a true dragon of Targaryen. Elder folk watched admiringly as they reminisced on how much the Dragon Prince resembled his father during his days of glory. Some whispered that he was Aegon the Conqueror reborn.

Yes it was true, Aegon moved with the cun and agility of a dragon, yet was calculated and as cautious as his wolf counterpart. “The Cold Dragon” commoners and nobles whispered as he’d enter and exit the Dragon Pit. He bested many knights in the arena, young and old, earning early yields from the likes of Loras Tyrell, Trystane Martell, Joffrey Baratheon and more. The Capital people cheered loudly for his prevails and maidens wooed to the boy, each beckoning the young Prince to meet their eye. The Prince’s victory within the tournament was almost certain and with it, the notion of his strange, blue roses being laid in the lap of only the fairest maiden in attendance of the tourney, was greatly anticipated. 

Who would the Prince name as the Queen of love and beauty? It was widely known and foreshadowed that whomever that maiden was, would undoubtedly be named as the Prince’s betrothed to come. And, low and behold, it was Sansa Stark who sat anxious and awaiting in the stand that was closest to the arena floor; eager and easily accessible to the Prince pending his victory. An ominous foresight. The red-headed beauty was quiet, her back straightened in modest courtesy as she clapped kindly for every Knight. Her blue eyes were naturally trained on no Lord but the Prince himself. It was only a matter of time, she would remind herself after each of Aegon’s victories. 

Sansa Stark drew her gold chalice to her lips cautiously, sipping the sweet wine that bathed within. Her eyes swept the stadium as she regarded the many attendees who took up space within the already over occupied stands. The Tournament of Kingslanding was undoubtedly the grand finale of Aegon’s name day celebrations—the climax of the secret courtship pursuit. 

Sansa silently sneered at the maiden’s who giggled about the arena, each smiling and pointing amongst one another and their handmaids to the Prince who had just won his match. They wooed and hollered to the boy who did not flinch or attend to their flirtation. Sansa smirked quietly to herself as she witnessed the scene unfold; they were all stupid little cunts that were wet behind the ears. Could they not see? They have already lost. Sansa was naturally the most obvious choice—the only choice, to be named as Aegon’s.

It was all just a matter of time…

Princess Eira sat silently above the Stark woman in the Royal Spectating Balcony. Eira...sweet, sweet Princess Neve in all her sinful glory. Her lips, soft and full, cold and sweet, never broke at the whims or daft little girls before her. Not even Aegon’s alleged betrothed could unnerve her. Eira sat stiffly in her chair, one smooth, milky leg crossed precisely over the other...she was rigid. The frozen beauty was unmoved and growing impatient at the dueling before her. 

Eira raised her wine glass to her lips and withdrew a quick sip to wet her silent tongue. It was pure rubbish, the berry she tasted. Sickeningly sweet and carrying no edge in its bite, Eira was unimpressed to say the least with her provided glass. Still, the woman threw it back like she had the countless others during the evening. They provided some relief; a silent peace of mind had begun to warm the girl’s flesh. 

Eira relaxed in her seat, slowly placing the stale glass upon a table at her side. She drew back into the chair, her head finding little comfort against the palm of her hand. She drummed her temple impatiently...the Princess was visibly agitated, though would not speak on whatever contested her. A serving wench scurried to the woman’s side, eager to replenish her barren glass. The wench had been warned of her lack of service at the Royal Balcony hours earlier and did not wish to endure disciplinary action for her lack of attentiveness to the visiting Royals beyond the wall.

Inside the Pit, Aegon’s eyes found Eira, naturally. He watched the woman for a moment as he sat quietly and polishing his steel that had suffered a fair knick. Ser Sandor would be cross with him for tarnishing the valyrian weapon he had just tended to that morn. 

Aegon observed the way Eira sat stiffly at her seat, her undoubtedly smooth legs crossed as though she meant to hide something from the Prince. But Aegon knew what resided between those soft thighs.

Heaven...and hell.

The Gods were cruel. The Prince would undoubtedly be cursed to send the damn siren away, yet be subjected to feasting in silence upon her sultry figure. There was no relief—no paradise in waiting, free of the woman’s emotional treachery. 

Eira was wrapped in the tightest, most luxurious blue silks he had ever seen her in. The Princess’ sides were daringly bare in the dress and her breast gave the illusion that they’d burst from the over-strapped corset she wore. Who did the King and Queen mean to advertise Aegon’s property to? 

Aegon shook his head impatiently, disturbed once more for the dark and possessive thought that had besieged him.

But still, he could not deny it; such round and full breast, the siren had. They were soft and supple to the touch and finished delicately with perky, pink nipples. Yes, Eira’s tender peaks slipped effortlessly around Aegon’s wet mouth and tongue.

Aegon dropped his steel, alarmed at another dark thought that had invaded his mind once more. He cursed it silently under his breath. The Prince knew his lack of focus for the task at hand would cost him the tournament. He closed his eyes tight and ran his butchered hands tiredly over his dirty face, smearing blood and sweat about its surface. It was as though the boy meant to wipe the indecent fantasy from his poisoned mind. But it didn’t work—it never would and never had.

Aegon cursed his lack of mental restraint. Still, deep inside the darkness of his heart, he wished he’d at least seen the girl off one last time with his cock before he’d permanently cast her. He should’ve done it—he should’ve pulled that pretty, little lilac dress up at its hem in that passageway and fucked her against the cold, stone wall. The boy should’ve forced himself into her cunt until she screamed her agreement and dug those icy talons into his flesh, begging for him to fuck her harder. The Prince should’ve taken her relentlessly until he emptied all of his seed into the woman. Yes, the boy would’ve then prayed to any fucking God that may have been watching, for his seed to take root and—

Gendry Baratheon limped towards the bench that lay to the side of the Dragon Pit. “Oi, Robb nearly broke my arm, brother...fucking hell” he grumbled, throwing his steel to the floor and ripping his chainmail from his bruised shoulder. Gendry had yielded to the northern boy, fearing the young wolf would’ve torn his arm from its socket if he hadn’t. “I love the kid, but I hope Jaime Lannister breaks the fucking wolf’s leg” Gendry collapsed to the floor, spitting harshly at his side. Blood and thick saliva mixed to a strange, pink consistency.

Prince Aegon absentmindedly retrieved his sword from the gravel at his feet, barely hearing any utterance from his brother. He had fought several times, winning simply—almost pathetically. Aegon was soulless inside the arena, his sword and step moving mechanically and rhythmically to the chants that lulled onward to him. Yet, the Prince was not dueling at the moment; so, what was the meaning behind the strange blankness his grey eyes held?

“Aegon! S’matter with you, brother? Have you heard nothing I’ve been saying?” Gendry suddenly appeared in front of the Prince, snapping his cut fingers before the dragon’s distracted face. Aegon flinched as he felt his wondering conscious return to him from the pits of darkness where it basked in Eira’s memory. He stood at once, attempting to steady himself. Aegon’s heart was unusually stifled from beneath his chest plate. The Prince reddened in slight, embarrassed that the stag might’ve heard his adulterous thoughts about the Princess.

All Aegon could think about, see, taste and feel, was Eira. The boy would be in the midst of a fight, barely holding off an opponent's attack, block of a strike, and still, the Prince found enough seconds between those crucial moments to peer upon the woman who sat in silence, observing him. The Princess’ eyes were firm, focused, yet somehow bleak in their search for his own. He wondered sometimes if she could actually see his eyes through his steel helmet. Were they speaking to her? It was unlikely, but the woman continued to leer upon the man as though they were the only two people present in the arena. 

“Sorry, Gen. I’ve just a lot on my mind. I hope it is not Robb that I will fight in the final duel, he knows my hand better than even you, brother” Aegon muttered, a taunting smirk appearing on his face. Gendry scoffed, spitting once more to the side.

“Pray to the Gods it is he and not the Kingslayer...that would be a devastating loss” Gendry chuckled, winking at his brother. “Imagine the look on all these fuckers faces” Gendry gestured to the stands that held roaring people and nobles. “And theirs…” he nodded silently to the Prince’s parents who leered intently upon the duel that was taking place. Aegon inhaled a strained breath, following his mother and father’s strenuous gaze that was unnaturally harsh ahead of them. 

The crack of steel on steel echoed angrily throughout the scape. Aegon’s eyes found his cousin Robb who was bathed in Stark grey armor. He swung aggressively towards Jaime Lannister who was dawned in golden chainmail himself. Jaime thwarted Robb’s blows with ease, almost dancing around the boy in mockery. A few commoners dared to chuckle at the fact. It didn’t take much prior knowledge of the lion to know he was likely smirking in amusement at the young wolf behind his golden helm. Robb Stark was child’s play to a seasoned soldier like Jaime Lannister. 

Robb halted in his offensive stance, opting for a defensive approach instead against the lion. He began exchanging quick, calculated lunges with the Lord, circling him for an opening to strike. Jaime mirrored the boy’s footwork, disengaging him at the last second and evading the wolf’s counter. The lion watched with increasing amusement at the way Robb stepped stealthily to the side in wait of him. The young wolf was naive to believe the Lannister man would lead him to an opening against him. 

Robb charged once more, raising his steel in loom of his strike. Jaime stood his ground, crouching in anticipation of the wolf’s bite. The lion was patient and calculated, counting each step the young wolf took, mapping each breath and the subtle raise of his sword. He had been doing so since the pair had begun their duel...

There it was—the wolf’s weakness. Robb took two steps with the same foot before every lunge and Jaime had spent the entirety of the match calculating the mere, fateful fact. As Robb leered closer, he undoubtedly repeated his sparring ritual, and on his second step, Jaime kicked the boy’s feet from underneath him with such ease, it made Robb appear to be a child sparring with a wooden dummy. 

The stadium gasped, watching in angst and disbelief as Jaime raised his sword and prowled ominously over the young wolf’s body. Robb’s chest heaved in embarrassment as he fumbled the grate of his helm, throwing it up at once. He glared from the ground up at Jaime, who tilted his head in amusement once more for the boy. “Go on, then...do your duty” Robb sneered, spitting to the side. His icy, blue eyes drowned the lion in contempt as he smirked down at the young wolf. 

Jaime paused curiously at Robb’s choice of words toward him. It seemed the Stark boy had lost all his renowned, northern honor in the face of defeat. The lion pondered the wolf’s snarl for a moment before raising his hand to open his own grate and peer mockingly down at the wolf. The Kingslayer tilted his head to the side once more, eyeing the boy like cattle to predator. “My duty?” Jaime questioned, his lips separating to reveal a rather bemused, toothy grin. He was much aware of the temperment in which Robb fared his words to him, though he still took silent joy in twisting his blade in the lad’s wounded ego.

“You know what I speak of...you are well versed in the deed. You’ve done worse, Kingslayer. I’m sure a young Lord to come as myself is merely just another notch on your traitorous belt. Go on, then!” Robb seethed, sitting up from his sore place on the arena ground. His sharp words were dull against the Kingslayer’s coat of gold—alas, Jaime still frowned at the boy’s words. They had struck a nerve in the lion, though he was wise to make no mention of it. Still, the amusement never fleeted his green eyes. 

The lion kicked Robb back to the ground and raised his sword to the boy. Jaime extended the glistening valyrian steel towards the wolf; it’s tip radiating ominously in the eye of the capital sun. The stadium and its spectators gasped in horror of what the fallen Knight seemed intent to do to the Warden in the North’s firstborn son. This was not a tournament meant to declare death—this was sport, in honorable name of the Prince and his birthright celebrations. Truly, King Rhaegar would not allow such an atrocity to take place before his noble guests...

“This is true, and I am a creature of habit…” Jaime cooed, though the bantering tone no longer resonated with his cold, green eyes. He grasped his sword tightly between sure hands and raised it above his shoulders. “I suppose winter is here then, little Lord…”

“Enough! He yields!” A woman’s voice yelled from an unidentifiable place within the arena stands. Jaime Lannister‘s sword held its place in the air just as the fallen Knight had begun to lower it to the young wolf’s awaiting core. “Stop this duel, I say! Have ye no honor?” the woman growled once more. 

The stadium’s spectators turned to the source of the interruption, finding a frail woman with red hair scurrying down the cobblestone stairs that led to the arena. The gawking crowd separated quietly to allow the woman access to the arena. No Guards dared to hinder her way. The woman pushed past the participating knights and stormed towards the two dueling men at the Pit’s core. 

It was Lady Stark. 

Catelyn stalked into the scape, dropping to her knees before her son who had begun to sit up once more in greater embarrassment for his mother’s intrusion. A few Lord’s and soldiers had begun to snicker and whisper of the ‘little boy who cried wolf’ but wasn’t really a wolf afterall, it would seem. Perhaps he was a dunce fish then, like his mother and her father before; the Gods were cruel. This was Lord Eddard Stark’s firstborn son; heir to Winterfell. “I do not yield to this coward!” Robb shouted as the quiet commentary finally found his ear. 

The wolf lifted himself from the gravel that once held him so smugly. His usually handsome face had turned to an unpleasant shade of red and it was uncertain if the cause was from rage or embarrassment—perhaps it was both. “My mother does not speak for me!” Robb sneered angrily, tearing his helm from his head. “As I’ve said, Kingslayer...do your duty. You won, now finish it!” Robb berated, standing nose to nose with the ever smirking lion. Catelyn rose quickly from the gravel she had met her son at and forced her slender body between the two foes.

“Robb, please! That is enough…” Catelyn bellowed low to her boy. Her eyes cut sharp into the side of her son’s face, though he was unwilling to entertain the scowl. He was a man, afterall. He would not have his mother fighting his battles for him, nor would he hide behind the hem of her skirt.

Jaime chuckled slightly, glancing to the boy’s mother who had begun to leer just as hatefully upon the lion when she heard his laugh. “Go on and listen to your mother, boy. This is not a duel to the death, it is mere sport. You mean to make a mockery—

“Coward!” Robb shouted once more, his hand trembling. The young wolf was unwilling to hear any instance of mockery at his expense. The boy was already wounded from battle. He did not wish to further suffer a bruised ego or be the cornerstone of banter within the Red Keep’s training grounds. Robb exhaled a sharp breath that had been held captive beneath his chainmail since the Kingslayer had bested him in their duel only a moment earlier. The breath swirled, igniting a foreign rage in the usually docile and honorable Stark boy. Robb reached for his hilt suddenly, unsheathing his steel once more. “You will fight me, Kingslayer, you will—

“Robb, that is enough” a solemn voice spoke from behind the young, wild wolf. Catelyn lowered her eyes at once, though found enough time to peer upon her boy. Her eyes held unease for what would come to her boy in private. Yes, it was at that very moment that Catelyn knew trouble would be amiss. Robb Stark went rigid in his place, his foot suddenly stiff at where it had once stood so brazen. 

The young wolf knew that deep, warning voice and it did not need to speak twice for the boy to heed its word. 

Robb’s chest filled in rage as his glare remained strained and relentless upon Jaime Lannister. After a lasting moment, he spat grotesquely at the lion’s side and turned towards the exit of the arena, his mother and suddenly present Warden father flanking him on either side. The lion smirked, chuckling slightly as he peered after the sore sight of the young wolf fleeing with his tail between his legs. 

The arena remained still. 

Quiet chatter begun to fill the many rows of balconies and bleachers of the Dragon Pit as commoners and nobles alike whispered of the scene that had unfolded before their eyes. Robb Stark was defeated by Jaime Lannister...The Kingslayer. Worse, he took the loss unlike a Stark of honor. How unbecoming for the young Warden to come.

Aegon watched quietly as his cousin passed him with his parents by his side. He did not meet the Prince’s eye or utter any word in consolidation of his loss. Lord Stark was muttering something to his eldest boy much too quiet for the dragon to hear. Aegon was certain he was warning Robb of his honor and how a Stark behaves in the presence of Royalty. 

The Prince did not fully hold Robb responsible on his conduct within the arena. Anyone with two functioning eyes could see that Jaime Lannister had provoked the boy, what with circling him like he was a scared wolf pup. It was mockery and tasteless. Aegon’s brooding glare returned discreetly to the arena where the prideful lion had begun to withdraw his helmet completely. He bowed enthusiastically, though, there was no honor present in his gesture. Perhaps, it was just the opposite. The Prince caught the Kingslayer’s emerald eye briefly, where only a look of sheer malice was granted on his part...and a look of amuse upon Jaime’s. 

“So, how long before the next duel, Your Grace?” Jaime suddenly spoke, turning curtly to the Royal Balcony that held the Prince’s parents. The King and Queen remained stoic at the lion’s jest-filled remark. All chattering and whisper had ceased as the Kingslayer addressed the Royals. The spectators of the Pit’s turned quietly to their King and Queen who looked rather unmoved by the lion’s cun. Aegon clenched a leathered fist. He did not wish to delay this duel any longer. He would serve what the lion was long in receiving…

...justice.

“Now” Aegon replied when his father and mother made no move to acknowledge the Kingslayer’s silver tongue. “Unless your old bones require a moment to recover, that is. The Crown grants you your sustenance” Aegon retrieved his discarded helm from beside his boot, tucking it under his arm as he moved with questionable urgency while entering the arena. Squires leapt into action as they tore the Prince’s armor from the side benches and began scurrying to meet their Prince and prepare him for battle. 

The crowd burst into a grand bellow of cheer for the young dragon. 

Queen Lyanna grasped her husband’s hand in anxiety as she listened to her boy’s words. “Rhaegar...my love, perhaps a moment with our son— the woman began, her grey eyes suddenly wide with plea. She was uncertain if the Kingslayer meant to harm her brood and meant to finish what he had started with her eldest nephew. Jaime Lannister’s motive was unclear and Queen Lyanna was just as unwilling to discover the answer to her deepest worry. Lyanna’s eyes pierced pathetically into the side of her husband’s pale face that remained calm and firm. Rhaegar made no effort in granting the woman an affectionate gesture to soothe her concerns and woes. 

The King retracted his hand from his wife’s grasp and stood solemnly. “The duel will commence…” He uttered after a grueling pause. His violet glare swirled maliciously upon the lion whose smile in return only grew for the scene that had unfolded and response he’d drawn from the stimulated crowd. The Kingslayer fed off the fear and bewilderment before him...his moment was finally here and what a treat from the Gods it was that his final duel was against the King’s son himself. 

An unknown servant girl leapt inside the barrier of the Dragon Pit with a bouquet of roses. She scurried across the harsh and steaming gravel to the lion who cocked a brow in wake of her presence. She reached the knight with her head hung low. The girl was unwilling to meet Jaime’s keen, predatorial eye. “My Lord...your roses for if you win this duel. You may present them to any maiden you see fit in receiving the honor of The Queen of Love and Beauty...May the Gods hold your favor” She muttered quietly, still evading any and all eye contact with the lion.

Jaime smiled appreciatively with a fair nod, though the kind gesture did not meet his sly eye. “Many thanks, my Lady” He remarked with overcompensating politeness. “I will most definitely lay these beautiful roses in the lap of the most enchanting woman in this arena…” Jaime Lannister’s leer washed curiously across the many balconies of the Dragon Pit that held the likes of the fairest and most eligible maiden’s in the country. 

Margaery, Arianne, Sansa, even his own daughter Myrcella had flickered into his peripheral as he scanned the whispering space. His emerald eyes found some familiarity; Cersei was watching in displeasure of Jaime’s boastful demeanor. Perhaps the lioness was embarrassed of the spectacle that her brother had made of the tournament. Jaime always saw to it that he would be the topic of discussion in every event. The lion knew that Cersei desired more than anything to keep a low profile during her visit in the city. 

The lion smirked in his kin’s direction, causing the yellow-haired woman to scowl in response. What treachery lay behind her dear brother’s eye? Her gaze flickered quietly to her husband, Robert Baratheon who was present as well this eve. The man had chosen to concern himself with the whereabouts of the serving wenches and caravan of Essos whores more than he had attended to his own wife and children. But Cersei did not hold the drunken stag completely in ill-faith—she knew the Lord was merely attempting to do the same as she. 

Robert couldn’t bare to face Lyanna like this. Not while he had lost all his luster and ferocity...and the she-wolf. The Lord these days was known to be an ailing, fat, drunk who had tripled in as much width as he had once held in height. He could not make his presence known to his fierce love like this. No. He wished to meet her once more under a difference presence.

And alas, there would be a future time and place more suiting to make his presence known in this blasted city…Still, Robert would sometimes find himself staring in utter malice upon his sworn love and her King. Only the Gods knew the restraint Robert had held to not storm the Dragon King at where he sat so smugly and tear his pale white throat from his abominable head.

Jaime turned away from his twin and exchanged his sinful glare with her for a more appropriate one with the Royal Balcony. Lyanna stiffened at the lion’s prowl, her own eyes filling with uncertainty for his silent motive. “There is only one woman that I wish to fight in honor of this eve. Yes, in my most honorable opinion—or at least, what is left of it, that only one maiden is truly the fairest of them all. It is my hope she will accept my duel in honor of her name and sheer radiance…

...Princess Eira Neve” Jaime remarked simply, tilting his head upward to the frozen beauty who sat quietly at her seat. 

Eira was unmoved by the Kingslayer’s valor. The winter-maiden remained slump in her chair with her legs crossed vixingly and a tender thigh exposed, for all to feast upon. Eira’s face retained its cruel stillness within the crux of her palm. She drew her chalice to her lips and drew forth a slow, taunting taste. The Princess was bored with this man’s speeches and wit. Still, she bid him a pursed lip and curve of curiosity in her fair brow. 

Eira’s eye flickered silently to the lion’s chosen competitor. She wondered for a moment if Aegon had heard the Lord’s declaration and was at all disturbed by it. When her blue eyes found Aegon’s figure standing silent and rigid, she knew he had heard the lion’s clever pur. The Prince was visibly taken aback at what had slipped from the man’s lips. Eira smirked mischievously, pleased with the displeasure that had washed upon the dragon’s brooding face. 

Aegon was unnerved. Eira wondered if she was the only to notice...

The stadium broke into a roar of cheer and yells of disagreement for the Kingslayer’s peculiar declaration. Nobles had began to whisper amongst themselves and commoners continued to yell obscenities from the stands. Royal Guard’s began seizing the increasingly volatile and turbulent spectators who had begun to throw objects into the arena in enragement for the Kingslayer’s words. 

Queen Lyanna stood at once at Jaime’s declaration. The Stark-born woman snapped her eyes downward to her husband who seemed unmoved at the lion’s attempt at causing a riot within his ancient walls. “My King, you cannot actually be allowing such an infraction! He has declared his roses for a woman who is not only betrothed but a guest of our Kingdom. Surely he means to enrage the Northern Crown and poke jest at their presence in our Capital. You must end this—

“Enough!” A Godly voice boomed from beneath Lyanna’s seat, causing the she-wolf to flinch at the severe tone that had leapt forth from the man’s normally humble throat. The surrounding spectators before the great man fell silent in wake of his otherworldly presence. 

King Neve rose from his seat, towering easily over his own Royal Guard who armed in solidarity with their increasingly agitated King. Jaime Lannister’s smirk depleted to a mere curve of visible amuse. While the Knight was infamously brazen and smug, he was not daft. He knew nothing of this King beyond the wall and was wise enough to not test such unknown boundaries. Jaime lowered his sword, securing it within his hilt as a sign of submittance. 

Jaime dropped slowly upon one knee, lowering his head to the great, burly King and his brood. “Forgive me, my King. I meant no offense against you or your family. I merely meant to pledge my sword in name of your daughter, Eira. I am both humbled and honored to be not only in your presence, but to be granted the utmost privilege to duel in her name at such a historical event. I know not when such a noble chance may be presented to a shunned Knight as myself...I request only your approval Your Grace to hopefully re-establish some lost honor to my House’s name” Jaime spoke solemnly and firmly to King Eldor. The arena remained deafeningly still in lew of the fallen Knight’s whim. Timidly, many eyes turned back to the Frozen King in wait of his word and which way it would weather for the lion.

Aegon’s heart beat wildly out of his chest at the lion’s words before King Neve. Jealousy and rage circulated the Prince’s blood as he fought the darkness that had begun to fester at his heart. Madness. All the dragon could see and feel was fire.

Fire and blood.

Aegon’s eyes followed the Kingslayer’s kneeling body as he regarded the lion’s claims before the Northern King. What right did Jaime Lannister believe he carried to be given such an honor as to duel in the name of the Crown Princess?

His...Crown Princess.

His and only his.

Madness.

King Neve remained stoic as he contemplated the Kingslayer’s words. What mockery did this fool mean to ignite before he and his family? Eldor raised his strange, blue glare to exchange an indifferent look with his southern counterpart. King Rhaegar met Eldor’s leer diligently. The Dragon King too was unsure of the motive that fueled Jaime Lannister’s request and quite frankly, he was disturbed by it. Perhaps the Kingslayer meant to enact some form of alliance with the King beyond the wall. Maybe, Jaime meant to garner favor with the frozen man in hopes he would oblige his future request of support in the event of a rebellion. 

Whatever was the motivating force behind Jaime’s declaration, King Rhaegar did not like it. No, the Dragon King loathed its premise and what it could potentially draw in the near future. Rhaegar was becoming increasingly paranoid as the days past that he hosted such hostile Houses within his city. Queen Lyanna was aware of her husband’s strange, paranoia as of late. She cringed internally wondering if he carried the same madness in his blood that his father had once held.

“I rebuke this...this blatant display of mockery in the face of two Kingdoms. I will not permit such a volatile gesture that hides behind the face of honor, I— Rhaegar suddenly hissed. The King gripped his chalice roughly between a leathered grasp as his eyes turned fiery with contempt for the Lannister. 

“My King,” King Eldor spoke suddenly, halting Rhaegar’s rant of dishonorable premises. “While I am both humbled and grateful for your concern, I do not share this...opinion, of our lion competitor” Eldor began. He turned once more to peer skeptically upon the kneeling knight who remained still at his remarks.

Jaime lifted his eyes cautiously as the words began to spill forth from King Neve’s mouth. “You are one of the most deplorable men I have ever had the utter misfortune of being aware of. True ye say you are dishonored—and rightfully so. But this tournament is in honor of the great son to King Rhaegar, Prince Aegon Targaryen...heir to the Iron Throne…”

The crowd erupted into a surge of cheer for King Neve’s affirmations of their Crown Prince. King Rhaegar lowered his head in solidarity of his northern counterpart’s declaration. “If ye say you wish to fight in good faith and sport of this event...for my daughter...than I shall leave the acceptance of such a request to the Crown Princess of the North, herself...Eira...What say ye, my child?” King Neve mused, turning to the frozen beauty who sat uninspired at her father’s side. Once more, the stadium fell gravely still in wait of what the woman would say to the cowardly lion. 

Eira peered coldy upon Jaime Lannister, her face never moving or posture straightening for the Lord below her. The Princess inhaled an exasperated breath, drawing the nearly dry chalice to her lips once more. She swished the chalice gently before throwing back its remain. Noblemen watched entranced by the woman’s stoic beauty; so cold, so cruel, so desirable.

Eira placed her chalice down quietly, though the clink of the solid gold cup somehow echoed throughout the gravely still stadium. The Princess adjusted in her chair, sitting up in slight. Jaime Lannister never dropped the hateful glare she had bestowed upon him. She was truly aweing—it was disturbing, to say the least; no human should hold such otherworldly essence. Eira leaned forward, her cascading, white hair following suit and falling effortlessly across her bare shoulders. She pursed her plump, pink lips, tugging them skeptically between her teeth as she pondered in chilling silence. With a quiet tilt of her head, she narrowed her eyes upon the Lord once more and waved her slender hand. “I accept. Let them fight”. 

The stadium erupted as the commoner’s chanting returned with an ominous vengeance. 

Queen Lyanna inhaled sharply at the Princess’ smugness. “My love, please, this is hardly appro— Lyanna hissed, her eyes becoming sharp upon her King who looked unmoved by all that had transpired before them. Rhaegar rose his hand simply, silencing her woes. Lyanna flinched at the coldness at which her husband had dismissed her; it was unbecoming of the King. Without a further complaint, the Stark-raised woman sat quietly once more in her seat and awaited the duel to commence. Her complaints would be entertained nor heard any longer.

Jaime Lannister rose from the gravel, turning his attention to the competitor in waiting. Curious, the Lannister man watched as Aegon’s face twisted in contempt before him, though it lifted discreetly above the two. Jaime followed his brooding glare, realizing it was fixated in utter displeasure upon the Princess. “I take it was bad break up then, lad?” Jaime cooed venomously toward the brooding boy. 

Aegon snapped his head forward, his grey eyes becoming as dark as night. He would not pretend that he did not hear the Kingslayer’s clever word, nor would he wait for his King father to commence the duel. The Prince’s heart was strained between bitter jealousy for the Lannister knight who had declared himself to Eira and sheer hatred for the woman’s acceptance of his sword. 

Eira was his. And Jaime Lannister had declared her for his own. 

Sansa Stark watched in concealed rage as Aegon had peered so helplessly to the Neve woman. His eyes held resentment...but there was something else present. Something the Stark maiden has yet to bring forth from the dragon herself no matter how hard she tried. 

Yearn. 

“If Aegon did not declare you, does that mean the betrothal is off?” Arya Stark muttered in haste for her sister. The wild, she-wolf had been present for all that has transpired since her brother was removed from the arena by their parents. She too, had had the misfortune of listening to Sansa’s whispers of Aegon’s infatuation with her and how she had planned to save his winning roses and preserve them for their wedding. And when the Neve woman had accepted Jaime Lannister’s sword and exchanged a strained and yearning glare with the Prince, she’d nearly fallen off her seat from the sheer humor of it all. 

Whatever Sansa Stark wanted, Sansa was granted. All but the Prince, it would seem. Arya chuckled quietly to herself, sipping her chalice in triumph for her sister who was relentlessly cruel to her. Sansa was always the superior Stark daughter, the beauty of the north, the best choice for future matrimony. 

Oh, how the wine was ripe this eve. 

“Shut up you little monster!” Sansa spat viciously, gulping the last of her own chalice. “The wedding is not off! It is not common to announce your Queen before you have won...it is stupid. Aegon does not need to declare his sword for me...I...I know he wants me—fights...for me” Sansa corrected, though for the first time since her arrival in the Capital, she was unsure the direction in which the Prince’s heart weathered. Sure, the naive girl had seen the looks between the two, pained and needing. She had heard the whispers of Aegon’s infatuation. Still, she silenced them behind her daft ears. The she-wolf’s eyes moved silently above her to the frozen cunt that sat so smugly before her. 

“Little bitch” Sansa heard herself utter before she could retract the hateful words to the depths of her mind. Her blue eyes snapped nervously to her sister who did not move or react to her comment. She inhaled a stiff breath that had suddenly lodged in the bay of her chest. Perhaps Arya was not paying attention to her then. 

“So hateful, so unbecoming of a woman who seeks the crown…mother would be disappointed. And Septa...Gods...if she had heard you…” Arya muttered after a drawing moment had passed between the two sisters. She smirked maliciously to herself, a thick, dark brow rising in triumph against her brood. The two were never close in childhood and the relationship the two held has continued to dissipate between them as they neared adulthood. 

“If you don’t shut that little, fowl mouth of yours, I will tell mother and father—

Sansa was cut short in her bottomless threat as the loud crash of steel on steel seized her flailing attention. The two Stark women jumped in surprise of the abrupt clash, seeing as the King had not called for a squire to sound the Royal trumpet and announce the commencement of the final duel. 

Sansa’s eyes averted forward as she watched wide-eyed as Prince Aegon swung aggressively and repeatedly upon the Kingslayer. Jaime met each slash of the dragon’s sword, maintaining his composure against the dragon’s ferocity. Sansa could not help but notice the desperation and rage that radiated through Aegon’s arm. The man was wild with aggression as he circled and prowled upon the lion. 

Jaime exhaled a sharp breath as Aegon swung his mighty sword just over the top of the Lannister knight’s crown, barely missing the cusp of his steel helmet. The lion smirked, gritting his teeth as he met the Valyrian steel once more at mid-strike. The two men pressed dangerously against one another, each attempting to throw the other off their balance. “I’ve struck a nerve then, my Prince” Jaime sneered, shifting his weight and shoving the Prince back a foot or two. 

Aegon’s nostrils flared silently as he clenched his jaw enraged. “You talk to much” the Prince answered simply, taking an offense stance once more as the lion circled him predatorily. Green eyes locked heatedly with grey ones as the two men watched one another menacingly. “You Lannister’s carry too much poise and undeserved pride. You should be indebted to my father’s hospitality of you mongrels” Aegon spat grotesquely, thrusting his sword toward the lion’s chest plate. Jaime stepped skillfully to the side, once again evading the dragon’s claws. 

“But of course, dear Prince! We are ever humble by the graces of your father...you should learn some humility yourself, boy” Jaime growled, swinging his sword at Aegon’s shoulder. 

A connected blow. 

Aegon staggered to the side as the attack was a success. A sharp, throbbing pain seared through his collarbone, causing the Prince to wince in response. His nostrils flared in agitation as the crowd bellowed low in response to the lion’s successful strike. “I have more humility in one member of my body than you have in your entire, traitorous legac—

“Is that so,” Jaime remarked coolly, raising his sword once more to the Prince. Aegon narrowed his eyes in anticipation of the lion’s strike. “Perhaps it was too much humility...or too little, I should say...in that one particular member of your body, for dear, Princess Neve...shall we ask the maiden?” Jaime sneered, his smirk as evident as day, even behind the metal grate of his helm. Jaime lowered his sword, glancing devilishly to the Royal Balcony. His eyes found familiar blue ones as he exchanged a sly look with Eira, who happened to be sitting exceptionally still and attentive of the duel. 

Eira peered silently down at the fallen knight who had been dubbed ‘Kingslayer’. Her posture had straightened in curiosity since the abrupt start of the match as she watched with silent, but growing anticipation of who would rise victorious.

She didn’t care for the golden lion; in fact, the woman was stale to admit that the only reason she had accepted his sword, was to irritate Aegon. And true she had been to her intent. Through all the aggressive exchange of lunges and strikes, landed hit and missed, Aegon would find enough time to peer up at the spectating woman. What did he see? What was he thinking? Perhaps the Prince was cross with the woman for accepting such a tasteless honor in the name of Jaime Lannister. Whatever the fire was that fueled Aegon’s ruthlessness during the duel, Eira was sure she was the flint that had sparked the flame.

And, the Princess was silently satisfied in the fact. 

Aegon saw red as the hateful words has slipped through the Kingslayer’s grate. Without a moment spared, he charged deliberately toward the knight, bringing with him an onslaught of skillful twists and thrusts of his sword. Jaime stepped left, then right, ducking as the Prince swung nearly too close to his handsome face. “Ah, there it is...there’s that infamous, Targaryen madness...all for her...all for sweet, sweet, Eira N—

Aegon growled menacingly, thrusting his sword once more forward and striking the lion clean under his shoulder plate. The Prince felt the meaty, suction of his sword piercing the Kingslayer’s shoulder and surging through his tender flesh. Jaime’s cried out in agony for his arrogant miss-step in offensively guarding the boy. With another growl, one much more deliberate and full of dark satisfaction, Aegon retracted the sword skillfully. He glared smugly upon the knight who clutched his wounded shoulder astoundingly. 

The stadium roared in praise of the dragon’s effective strike. Queen Lyanna sucked in a steadying breath as she nodded her approval and relief. Perhaps her son would fair victorious afterall. The Queen was ashamed to admit she once assumed otherwise; still, she was wise not to speak on the fact. 

Jaime sucked in a breath filled of anguish and rage. Without dwelling too long on his fresh wound, he adjusted his stance and lifted his sword once more, charging the awaiting dragon who crouched in anticipation. 

Crisp clanking of Valyrian steel smiting one another rang agrily throughout the stadium. The dragon and lion exchanged blow after blow, successful strike after strike. In no time, both fierce competitors were riddled in cuts and wounds as blood spattered the hit gravel, drawing angry wisp of steam in its wake. 

Both men retracted from one another, panting heavily mere feet from the other. The sun had begun to retreat from the Capital sky, announcing ominously that it required a victor to take with it. 

Abruptly, Aegon withdrew his helm, throwing it to the dirt. The stadium gasped, becoming chillingly still at the Prince’s brazen display. Jaime Lannister smirked within his own helm, amused at the boy. He admired Aegon, truly. Aegon’s valor and brutality during their duel had inspired the lion. And even if Jaime would refrain from allowing the notion to slip from his lips, he commended the dragon and believed him to be a fierce warrior. 

More so than his King father and father before him. 

Jaime retracted his own helm, allowing his slick, blonde locks to fall free from the fiery cage. “I suppose we are at an impasse, dear dragon. Let’s end this then. What do you say, Prince Aegon?” Jaime remarked curtly, winking at his competitor. Lords and ladies leered onward to the two men basked in chainmail, each drenched in blood and sweat, neither willing to yield despite the injury they’d sustained. 

Aegon chest heaved as he exhaled a burst of hot air around his face. The sound of the stadium had deafened him during the duration of his duel. The adrenaline still coursed through the Prince’s veins, disabling him from truly feeling the extent of the damage he’s taken from the Lannister man. 

Aegon felt his grip upon his sword begun to dwindle. His hands were butchered and raw, stinging from sweat and blood. Timidly, he withdrew his leather gloves, feeling the slow and sharp tear of his withered flesh departing his puckered hands. The dragon grit his teeth, cringing inwardly as a bloody mess of flesh and blisters shone brightly in the sun’s glare. He hissed as he slowly mimicked his actions, withdrawing his next glove to reveal more gruesome wounds from wielding his sword too tight. “Fuck” he groaned, trying to stabilize the involuntary tremor his hand had begun in revelation of the butchery. 

Queen Lyanna stood once more from her seat, her heart suddenly sputtering at the witnessed extent of her boy’s wounds. “Rhaegar, this is madness! They have been dueling for nearly an hour! Aegon is teetering from one boot to the other! He cannot go on like this—I am calling a yield in his name!” She screeched in a low, resentful tone for her husband. She was greatly displeased and angered by the King’s lack of regard for their son—their only boy. She wondered if Rhaegar were using Aegon as a mere ploy in his silent disdain for the Lannister man. Perhaps the King were living vicariously through his boy and saw fit he would continue to the bitter end. Lyanna chilled at the horrific thought; what was becoming of her love? What if he had truly inherited the sickness of his father and his before?

What if Rhaegar has truly gone mad?

“You will take your seat and be done with these woes and coils of disdain! Have ye no faith in our son? My heir!” Rhaegar suddenly growled, never meeting the she-wolf’s eye. Lyanna flinched at the severity at which the King’s tone leapt to her. Never in Rhaegar’s life would he speak so crude to the woman...still, Lyanna heeded her husband’s word. Quite frankly, the Queen was scared of what would come to her if she didn’t. She did not know this silver-haired man who sat so darkly at her side and she would be wise to not cross his temper. 

Eira bit her lip in silent angst for the site of Aegon, though she would remain unmoved to wandering eyes who may have watched her for a reaction. Her heart had risen to her throat in the last half hour of the duel as she watched Aegon nearly lose his head a few times. “Damn it” she hissed quietly to herself, cursing if anyone had heard her woe. “Stupid little cunt...yield...yield, you pig-headed, stubborn fool...it’s not worth it...it’s...I’m...I’m not—

Aegon’s eyes turned briskly to the Royal Balcony. He peered deeply, almost painfully to the frozen woman who held his gaze in utter malice. It was all for her, wasn’t it then? The pain, the wounds...the blood, sweat and tears, grits of inexplicable pain—all for her. “Eira” Aegon whispered, though no sound escaped his lips. Only the murmur and silhouette of her name at his cut lip drew forth. And even through the pained silence of his declaration, Eira knew. She knew it was her name he had muttered so painfully.

A silent but sharp pain echoed through the woman’s heart. Her anger flared for its weak but evident presence. “What is this barbarism? This is what the southern crown sees fit as a name day celebration? I rebuke it. It’s deplorable and I have lost any fair taste for this. Call the draw if it is sport” Eira hissed venomously from her seat at her father’s side. She remained still and stoic, though her blood had begun to swell impatiently in her cold veins. Her stomach clenched anxiously for the sight of Aegon. Stupid, pig-headed, Aegon. Too much girth on his cock to yield...the little cunt. Perhaps if she let on to her Royal hosts that she was unimpressed and rather disgusted with the direction the duel had taken, they might call the end of it. Anything to appease King Neve and his family. 

“Eira, hold your tongue! You speak to a King!” Queen Eiris bellowed sharply. Her eyes narrowed in angst and uncertainty for her daughter’s sudden outburst. She was too much alike her brother in some regards. 

“This is tasteless! What does this duel mean to prove? And to whom? These peasants and high-whores? End the duel no— Eira’s temper began to flare as she clutched the arm of her chair. The ancient oak began to sweat and dissipate an ominous fog underneath the woman’s increasingly cold hands…

Eira halted her vile word, feeling a soft hand at her thigh. Her piercing blue eyes snapped sideways as she readied herself to unleash a tyranny of venom for who had been daft to touch her. 

It was her sister, Eireena. “Don’t,” Eireena’s soft, melodic voice breathed simply and gently to her agitated sister. “They will know otherwise” Eireena spoke softly, never meeting her elder sister’s cruel eye. Eira calmed in silence, turning quietly once more in her seat to face the arena. The Gods were cruel when they bid Eireena all the grace and patience of a Queen and then snubbed her as the third born with virtually no right to the Frost Throne. Eira always knew in her heart that she was not fit to rule someday as Queen. The woman was too cold, too dark and lead by impulse; she was much the same seed that Eiran was bred from. They would wreak havoc in their reign together. But, not Eireena. No, the young girl was good and fair. Soft and gentle like the first snowfall of late autumn in Frostmore. She was undoubtedly the only tenderness of Eira’s icy heart. 

Eireena knew of her sister and the Dragon Prince’s affair. She had known from the moment her elder sister had begun gracing her presence more frequently within Frostmore during the man’s stay. Eira was usually concealed within her own chambers, basking in her solitude. 

The elder Princess did not refrain from the castle’s halls out of sheer contempt of his inhabitants...it was Eiran. The Crown Prince had tormented his twin from as early as the younger girl could remember. He was relentless in his quest to bare misery upon his sister and he did so with sadistic satisfaction. Eira’s existence infuriated him. She was his equal. More so, she had been graced by the old Gods to bare the frozen touch; a magic that only came every hundred years to the descendants of House Neve. 

And so, Eira would refrain from the castle and its people—even her own family. But when Aegon had arrived and the moons had passed alongside his presence, she had seen something in her sister she had never seen before. Happiness. But the sun that basked in the silent contentment of her heart for Aegon’s presence within their halls had set with no promise of return when he’d left Frostmore. 

No word to his secret paramour had ever been spared. And the emptiness at which he had left the castle had festered ominously in Eira’s already tattered heart and bred something more dark and hateful. Absolute devastation. Eireena feared who her sister had become in those lonely, fateful moons that followed the Prince’s bitter departure. 

The ringing of steel on steel drew Eira’s attention back towards the barren arena. Eira watched darkly as Aegon and Jaime has begun to exchange blow after blow and strike after strike of fierce lunges with their weapons. Her hand absentmindedly clutched the arm of her chair once more as she fought with staggering persistence to not allow her face to churn with the worry that hummed quietly at her heart. 

The young dragon kicked Jaime bluntly in the chest, staggering the lion back a few steps before he countered with his own twist of his blade. Aegon ducked tiredly, his own energy slowly depleting like particles of dirt in a sand-clock. Jaime threw forth his steel once more, sensing the dragon was on his last breath by his lack of reaction and recovery to each blow he omitted. 

Jaime let forth a loud roar as he swung his sword into Aegon’s shield; the blow caused the Prince to drop to one knee by its sheer ferocity. The stadium gasped as Jaime’s predatory senses heightened at the sight of his easy kill. The lion wasted no time in charging the man, eager to end the battle and reclaim his honor. Aegon braced, watching as the lion loomed fast and stealthily over him. Suddenly, Jaime withdrew his sword, raising his iron fist and knocking the boy square across his already tarnished and bloodied face. 

The Prince fell back, his sword slipping from his grasp. 

The stadium fell silent as commoners roared in outrage of the sight. The Royal Guard sprung into action as many men and women attempted to storm the arena in retaliation of their fallen Prince. 

Jaime smirked over the dragon, his teeth glistening wet of blood and saliva. “Last words?” He cooed viciously, raising his Valyrian steel once more to the Prince. 

Aegon watched Jaime with utter disdain, his nostrils flaring in rage and desperation as he fought to replenish his aching and burning lungs. He remained cold and silent, eager to hold the lion’s eyes as he put the boy to his sword. 

Jaime lifted his sword and swung it down at the awaiting Prince with the roar of a true lion. 

Aegon rolled to his side at the last moment before the steel bit into his aching flesh. The stadium gasped at the sight as Aegon skillfully maneuvered to his sword and flipped it forward in his butchered hands. With a last burst of strength, he raised himself off the gravel and thrusted the sword upward, keen on plunging the steel flush through Jaime’s chest. 

But he did not connect. 

The stadium yielded to a still as they watched the unpredictable; Jaime had anticipated Aegon’s counter and had his sword over Aegon’s throat while on the ground...just as Aegon held his sword still at the lion’s own jugular mere centimeters above. 

A draw. 

Aegon and Jaime exhaled sharply, both drenched in sweat and anticipation of their own demise that they thought would come. But neither man it would seem had had the bravado or gull to deliver the final blow. 

An impasse, then. 

Jaime smirked curtly, his breath coming forth in desperate pants. “A draw then…” 

“A draw” Aegon exhaled, his hand trembling around the handle of his sword. Blood trickled desperately down the Prince’s arm as he finally released his hand and dropped the sword. Jaime too, dropped his steel and soon he too had collapsed in a mighty huff upon the dry, arena floor. 

Aegon watched the Kingslayer with intensity, his eyes dark and wary from the amount of energy he’d exhausted. The Prince could feel his final remnants of energy depleting as he struggled to stagger to his feet. Jaime rose slowly, grasping his shoulder that had begun to excrete streams of ruby red blood. He lowered his hand, extending his graces and affirmation to his skilled competitor. Aegon took it, wincing as the man drew him from the floor. 

King Rhaegar rose from his seat, his eyes seeming to weather a storm that no man could navigate. The great dragon cleared his throat and drew a slender hand into the air. “The Crown announces a draw…” He spoke firmly, though something temperamental was glistening behind the King’s violet eyes. “Today, we recognize two soldiers as victorious. Both men have displayed exemplary skill, endurance and strength. It has been many years since we have witnessed two swordsmen compete to such high standard and omit a draw—your skills remain untested and unmatched. My Queen and I thank these two swordsmen for fighting with valor, skill and honor. You have bid us your entertainment and nobility. The Crown bids you their graces” Rhaegar spoke mechanically, grasping his golden chalice. 

He peered crudely upon the lion as he raised his chalice to his thin lips. He drew a shallow sip, before turning curtly to the entrance of the balcony. The man never congratulated his son on the feat completed nor bid him any gratitude for a duel fought valiantly.

Aegon spat angrily at his side for the notion. 

The Prince limped tiredly to his discarded weapon. With his hand trembling, he reached down to retrieve it. When Aegon arose, he was bombarded with cheer and chants of his name—and only his name. Many spectators of the duel echoed their solidarity with the Crown, declaring Aegon the true victor and rebuking any notion of Jaime Lannister being named his equal. But the Prince did not attend to these chants, nor did he celebrate the closing of his nameday celebrations. 

Silent and still, the dragon’s anger was festering at the pit of his core. Truly, the prince didn’t quite understand his ill feeling; perhaps it was the instance of his father seemingly ‘snubbing’ his draw. What did the King seek, then? Blood? Would the man have been more satisfied had he witnessed his sons insides spilled and laid askew in this ancient arena? Aegon pondered the thought quietly. Maybe then it was true. If Aegon had perished in this fight, perhaps his father would have garnered the cause alone to finally rid the King of the traitorous lion Jaime Lannister.

Sacrifice his boy? His only living child left and heir to his throne? Aegon dreaded to consider the thought...madness. But what did the lad know? True ye say the King was scarce these passing days. Maesters had bid word to his mother’s ear of the old dragon spending hours in the darkness of his study; the same study that his father before had heard the walls whisper to him.

Prince Aegon limped from the arena, waving off the Kingsguards who rushed to meet the injured boy. His steel dragged lifelessly within his butchered grasp. “Aeg! Hold on, brother” Gendry Baratheon leapt from his seat on the bench the moment his compadre had finally exited the stadium. Worry creased the young stag’s forehead as he lifted his brother’s arm over his shoulder and retrieved his steel. “You did good, bloody good. I was worried you wouldn’t last but you did. It was a spectacle to witness, brother. A grand way to end the celebrations…” Gendry muttered to his friend as he helped him up the Dragon Pit stairs. 

Aegon exhaled sharply. He could finally feel the searing pain of his wounds sustained once his adrenaline had depleted. The Maesters would be cross with the boy. “I lost” he finally managed after a grueling feat overtop the last stone step. Gendry scoffed at Aegon’s comment, spitting hastily to his side.

“It was a draw”

“Anything that was not a win was a loss” Aegon reaffirmed, stretching his bruised shoulder. He hissed at the grueling tremble beneath his chainmail. How was the Prince to manage the feast to close the celebrations? His mother and father would expect nothing less than his presence to see most of the Royal Houses off.

Most. 

“Lady Sansa” Aegon heard his brother call. “A pleasure, my lady” Gendry acknowledged, taking the maiden’s hand who had suddenly appeared. He kissed it kindly. 

Aegon straightened slowly, nodding to the Stark girl who stood rigid and uncomfortable in his presence. Sansa bit her lip at the sight of the Prince; he had lost. The fact alone was the only pressing matter at the forefront of her mind. There would be no roses for the she-wolf, then. She wondered what that meant for the words whispered of Aegon and her potential courtship arrangements. 

“You fought valiantly, Prince Aegon. Many are declaring the Kingslayer a cheat. Anyone with eyes could see you were the more skillful fighter. You should be proud” Sansa smiled politely, stepping closer to the dragon. Aegon remained still, peering curiously through his wet curls upon the woman. What did the woman desire? Perhaps those roses...alas, Aegon was reluctant in handing them over. They were winning roses afterall and he was not victorious. Sansa’s blue eyes flickered discreetly to the small bouquet that Aegon had taken with him from the arena. If he would just hand them over then the whispers questioning her claim to the boy would cease…

Aegon caught her eye and grimaced internally. “My  
lady, I wish I could present these roses—

“I accept” Sansa quickly interjected, not wishing for the Prince to bid her courtesies of why it would be perceived dishonorable. Sansa extended a pale hand forward to the young dragon, her smile still kind but growing anxious. “Jaime Lannister fought for Princess Neve and you fought for I. You didn’t have to declare it, I know—

“I declared no one, my lady. What Jaime Lannister did was in poor taste and against tradition”  
Aegon answerd quickly, eyeing the woman skeptically. He felt his heart quicken with agitation once more at the mention of Lannister man declaring himself for Eira. His, Eira. “I do not wish to taint your name as he has tainted the Princess’”

“Surely the Princess does not see it that way, nor would I—I don’t see it that way” Sansa retorted impatiently as she fought against her dwindling irritation of the Princess. The Stark girl smiled sympathetically once more. “And if we should speak of tradition, it is said you are to announce your betrothed at the end of the duel, with or without roses. This whole celebration has been in recognition of you seeking a bride. Surely there is someone you mean to claim…” Sansa stumbled, finally retreating her hand once it was evident the Prince would not hand her his roses. She watched Aegon flinch at the mention of betrothal. Just as quick as her desperation had pushed the words from her slender lips, she wished she could retract them. 

“I—

Aegon was cut short of his words by Sansa leaping into his arms. Sansa squeezed the Prince tenderly, burying her face in the crook of his blood-stained neck. Aegon flinched, raising a hand to rest lightly at the woman’s back. He was not expecting her to embrace him with such...urgency. He stiffened, quietly cursing the girl for grasping him too roughly across his bruised back. “Sansa…” Aegon began, slowly trying to retract from the woman’s ironclad clutch. His eyes flickered helplessly to Gendry Baratheon who was failing miserably at stifling the amused smirk that had dawned on his handsome face. All the women were truly for Aegon.

Sansa slowly withdrew from the Prince, her body still tingling from the lingering sensation of his body against her own. How she yearned for more than just a simple embrace. But what would she do if handed more? It wasn’t much, but it was enough to engulf the woman in flames and leave her pale cheeks burning with desire. “I understand, my Prince. You are a man of conservation and patience and I assure you that I am a woman of similar stature. I can wait a while longer” the woman muttered, her blue eyes wide with wonder and admiration. Sansa blushed deeply and raised her hand once more to graze the man’s cheek. “I hope you will save me a dance at tonight’s feast. Good day, Prince Aegon” Sansa cooed once more. She turned swiftly, bidding a quick curtsy to Gendry and sashaying away toward the castle to prepare for the night’s feast.

Aegon closed his eyes in defeat, exhaling his irritation. The woman was persistent, he’d give her that. Perhaps it was his own doing, suited along his parents. They had spent so much time bidding talk of potential arrangements for the pair and in his spare time, he was encouraged to engage the girl. If it were up to his parents, Sansa would be named as his bride at tonight’s feast; perhaps she still would be, then. Aegon grimaced at the thought. 

“Oi, Aegon...you uh...she...is right there” Gendry Baratheon spoke solemnly, his own blue eyes becoming rigid at once. He lowered his glare and gestured to the Prince who regarded him curiously. What was the matter with the stag? “There—across the garden. You’re uh...well...her—she...Princess—

Aegon turned briskly at his brother’s words. He needn’t hear more at the mention of ‘princess’. And there she was, then. Dawned beautifully as the Prince could recall from his meager place at the arena’s core. Silken and blue, bare, yet concealed. Her succulent pink lips were pursed angrily from what he could see on her pale face, her eyes were as cold as ever, glowing in the still on the setting sun. It haunted him and aroused him all the same. All the blood he had lost in that arena and he still had enough left to swell his cock for the woman. 

Just a taste. No, more than that. The Prince needed much, much more. Aegon demanded it...more anger, more resentment, more screaming and moaning and the banging of chamber beds against thin walls. The feel of her silken body slick with her sweat and his own. Taking her from the front so he could squeeze her breast with every thrust and witness her pleasure, flipping her on her belly so he could take her again like a man—like a King. More of her in her bare glory and round, soft backside and that glistening, tight womanhood. Aegon’s pants twitched as his cock rubbed against the front of his pants impatiently; he needed her. He needed his woman...even if she didn’t believe she belonged to him. He’d show her. Oh, the Dragon Prince would teach the Princess so. 

How long had she been standing there? Aegon felt his stomach churn at the notion of the woman observing him seemingly taken with Sansa Stark only moments sooner. His mouth parted for words that would not reveal. He wanted to call her name, perhaps even beckon her closer. Gods, he hated her. Oh, but he felt so much more at the same time, it was torturous. Just a touch. His hand twitched eagerly at his side and the Prince was unsure if it was a result of his tendons and muscles trembling inside his butchered flesh or the nervousness that seemed to always come over the boy whenever his siren was near. 

Perhaps it was both. 

It was true, Princess Eira had been present to witness the interaction between Aegon and the Stark girl. She didn’t mean to watch. In fact, the woman had berated herself internally to leave. “Go” she had muttered silently, begging her feet to take a step in the opposite direction. But she just couldn’t. She couldn’t look away. Truthfully, Eira didn’t understand why, either. Why it was more important to watch Aegon embrace the little wench...why she needed to replay over and over again the way Sansa caressed his cheek before leaving. Why it fucking mattered so much and tortured her that she didn’t know what the woman muttered to him before her departure...or why it mattered at all what she had said. It shouldn’t have mattered, none of it. And she damn near shouldn’t have been thinking of cruel ways to force the words of why from Prince.

But it did. And the premise of it festered darkly in the Princess. 

She felt like a daft wench, much alike the other air-headed, tarts she had sneered at all week while being in the Capital. Now it was her turn—to be a daft, little tart. Foolish to challenge the King and his brutality towards his son, foolish to care about his well being. Foolish to seek him out afterwards and see to it that he was in fact alive and not nearly as dead as he looked at the match’s finish. She just wanted to know...she needed to silence the strange whim at the back of her mind that cried out for the Prince. 

She needed peace but found jealousy instead. 

And now here he was; so close that she could’ve met his place in only a few strides. Yet once more, her feet defied her. Anger cumulated her body as she silently seethed behind the classic scowl she eloquently would dawn. He didn’t deserve to see how much the sight had hurt. But it did. It hurt so, so much. 

Why did it hurt?

Aegon was the first to move. He had limped from the stadium under his brother’s arm and yet now, his feet moved urgently as though blood was not trickling under his chainmail. He needed to gaze upon her more closely, he needed to be sure that she was real and not a figment of his exhaustion and yearn combined. He couldn’t feel his legs but he knew they were working by how the woman would appear closer and closer with every stride. So close—so, so close.

“Princess” yet so far away. “Pardon my interruption, I was hoping you’d spare a losing knight a few moments of your time”. 

Jaime Lannister...Kingslayer. 

Aegon stopped abruptly, exhaling the burning breath beneath his lungs. The Prince had been so consumed in his need to be close to Eira, to beg her to come with him to his chambers so he could drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness and then stay there a while to devour her cunt, that he hadn’t noticed Jaime Lannister’s own ascension to her. 

Eira turned curtly to the fallen knight, her eyes eliciting a lasting and savory look of utter contempt with Aegon before she disregarded his presence. “I believe I’ve spared more than enough, Ser Jaime. Afterall, you single handedly fumbled my honor in that arena, hm?” Eira replied simply to the lion, cocking a fair brow in his direction. Jaime chuckled, his own arch rising; he was taken aback at the woman’s cun. The Kingslayer had to admit it, the girl was truly intoxicating. What with that striking blue glare against features that would make winter melt in envy...remarkable, tasteful...desiring. He understood the Dragon Prince’s infatuation.

“Ah, were you watching then? Funny, I could barely see your face from behind that gold chalice, Princess” Jaime cooed, his lips separating casually for a sly smirk. “Hm, no that’s unfair of me. You all but chucked the daft thing when your lover—ah, hm. The Crown Prince? Sorry—excuse me, I’m sure you must confuse the two. Aegon, not Eiran” Jaime relished mockingly, waving his hand in bitter pleasures. 

Eira’s eyebrows fell solemn at the lion’s cruel remark in attempt of banter. She smirked nonetheless, though the gesture did not meet her blue eyes. “Yes, of course. I’m sure those type of relations must be at the forefront of your tiny mind. Relations I mean, between kin. Not common but not unpractical. They serve a deeper purpose. Yes...You would know, wouldn’t you? Perhaps the idea of me fucking my brother must comfort you...maybe give you a taste of familiarity...maybe leave?” Eira breathed cunningly. Jaime’s face stirred in displeasure, though he was wise enough to not let the stain resonate on his face. He scoffed quietly, smirking to hide his surprise. 

“I beg your pardon, Pri—

“Your sister. Cersei. Sorry—I’m sure you must confuse the two,” Eira smiled devilishly, brushing a defiant lock of hair that had begun to dance in the ominous wind. “Your lover. I know...tasteless for me to accuse. But...I’m a watcher, you know. Everyone says the Princess of House Neve is so quiet, so cruel and silently defiant...it’s because I watch. Cersei Baratheon, married to that black-haired, bull of a man. Yet her children...all crowns of gold. Not even a brown haired kin...peculiar. All Lannister, if I might declare. You arrived in the Capital together, had you not? Peculiar. You must be proud, Ser Jaime…rarely do the apples fall so close to the tree. Thing about trees bearing fruit of the same seed…” Eira whispered, her lips pursing once more. 

Jaime’s bashful smirk all but depleted from his handsome face at the woman’s crude and accusatory remark. He pondered her words quietly. Was it truly that obvious? No, it couldn’t have been. Surely if this quiet, malicious Princess could have noticed, perhaps someone else had too? No. The premise was unlikely. If it were true, his head and Cersei’s would’ve served as table settings from the moment they rode through the Capital gates. 

Jaime Lannister shifted unsurely from one foot to the other. He tilted his head mockingly, his golden locks falling theatrically in front of his mischievously, handsome face. “My, my...perhaps you should stick to watching dear Princess—and keep such preposterous conclusions to yourself whilst you do it”.

“Oh? Perhaps. I take it you didn’t limp all this way to duel me in tongues” Eira commented skeptically as her eyes flickered causally to the red roses within the lion’s tattered grasp. Jaime followed the woman’s eye, smirking silently. He straightened once more, his bravado poise and prominent. 

“Ah, yes. Roses,” Jaime smiled sheepishly as he drew forth his bouquet and lifted them to his nose. He inhaled exaggeratedly, winking at the maiden who merely scowled at the slyness of his gesture. “You truly are perceptive, Princess. While it is true that I fumbled your honor in the arena, I was hoping you could still find it in your icy heart to accept the flowers in spite. It would be a shame to watch them wither away” Jaime extended his armored hand forward towards Eira. He tilted his head to the side in an amusing pout. “What, you are not a flowers girl?” He questioned when his hand remained unmet.

Eira never glanced at the roses. Her cold eyes remained harsh and cold upon the Kingslayer. What was the purpose behind his little gesture? “I prefer wine” the Princess replied plainly, finally allowing the roses a fleeting glance. She found Jaime’s eyes once more that seemed to brighten with greater mischief. 

“Then lucky you I should know a merchant who sells the more aged Dornish berries in all of Westeros. Perhaps you would bid me your presence tomorrow instead for a stroll in the Capital to wet your insatiable appetite for the barrel?” Jaime remarked curtly, his smile becoming slender and slick. He was much aware of the Prince who stood not too far off to the side, observant and ever aware of the words being exchanged. Perhaps the boy would muster whatever was left of his dragon-might and force his steel through the Kingslayer’s back then—wouldn’t that be poetic? 

Eira too, was aware of Aegon who was quietly close and weathering the Princess and lion’s words. The little prick. Shouldn’t he be off jamming his glorious cock in the Stark girl? 

Eira did not waiver at the lion’s words or display any remnant of emotion to which side she was favoring towards his request. Yet, Eira observed out the corner of her eye the way in which Aegon’s body had twitched once learning the Kingslayer’s brazen request. His eyes had darkened and brows furrowed in silent rage as his hand grew stiff upon the hilt of his sword. 

Good, then; it was just what the Princess desired to see.

Eira’s glare flickered back calmly to the lion whose brow was arched and smirk was still evident on his face. “Well?” He mused, tilting his head once more to the side. Eira rolled her eyes internally at this fool’s bravado. Still, he appeared to be insistent of the Princess obliging. Eira straightened and lifted her hand to retrieve the vibrantly red roses.

“I accept. Tomorrow, mid afternoon. You may retrieve me from my quarters...King Rhaegar’s Royal Guard shall escort” Eira replied simply retrieving the bouquet. Jaime’s eyes widened with surprise. He straightened and bowed his head to Eira in courtesy. The lion was pleasantly content with the maiden’s acceptance yet he was also quite surprised; perhaps he should just bid his thanks and take leave before the woman could attest to something more. Still, Jaime dared to meet the woman’s eye curiously as he felt her cold hand brush his own to accept the roses. 

“Of course, Princess. I’m sure you’re father and King Rhaegar would not have it any other way” Jaime replied, a smile small and lingering at his lips. He watched as Eira fingered the delicate petals of the roses and became suddenly mesmerized. His green glare raised quietly to meet Eira’s blue ones. She was pleasantly quiet, fixated on the bold, crimson petals of the flower and silken texture of its mane. 

Jaime’s eyes squinted as he peered closer upon the flowers; they had begun to excrete a strange, fog. The lion’s brows began to raise in bewilderment as a quiet crackling had begun to sound between the Princess and man. He watched in utter disbelief and enchantment as the rose’s stems began to wither and turn black; the darkness traveled up the stem of the flower and cascaded ominously to its bulbs and petals. Slowly and surely, the darkness became pigmented with deep blue and completely frosted over in ghostly white ice. In mere seconds, Eira’s slender hands held a bouquet of frozen roses that glistened ominously under the Capital’s depleted sun. “I—My...Princess—

Eira silenced the dumbfounded knight by taking a daring step towards him and raising her opposing hand to grasp the lion at the nape of his mane. Without a word, she pulled him closer to her and pecked his lips gently, but dominantly. The kiss was not kind or filled with any inclination of kindness or desire. It was dark, almost too bold and forward. The Princess meant to show the lion who was truly in control here. It was as though her cold, ruby lips had not truly touched his but possessed them instead. It happened so suddenly that the lion had not a moment to react. Perhaps he had imagined it all. 

Still, the gesture was so gentle and dismissing, he wondered what he had done to deserve it. Should he be grateful or worried? Before the lion could utter a sly word to better the woman who had seemly bested his cun, he felt her thrust the frozen roses into his hand once more and with her opposing hand, shove him coldly by his chest away. Jaime’s brow’s knitted in confusion. What was this sly Princess up to? “They were beautiful roses, Jaime Lannister. Tomorrow. I don’t fancy waiting” Eira remarked coldly, exchanging a malicious look with the knight. She turned at once, stalking eloquently towards the castle as though no words or a malicious kiss had ever been exchanged with the lion. 

Still, Jaime was not a fool. A pompous arse, perhaps, but the man was not daft; he had seen the scant flicker of the Princess’ eye that danced past him to the lad who was undoubtedly watching from behind. 

Prince Aegon. 

Jaime turned curiously to see the Prince retreating rather urgently back towards his friend who looked equally perplexed and disturbed by what he had witnessed afar. Jaime smirked to himself, an amused chuckle slipped from his lips. “I can’t say I approve Princess...but I’ll bite” Jaime muttered darkly to himself as he tucked away the dead roses. He was much in tune with what was going on here; the Princess meant to upset the Prince and true ye say, she was successful. Perhaps she meant to use Jaime as a prop in her treachery against the dragon. Jaime snorted at the thought. He would weather this game then—for entertainment purposes of course. Jaime turned toward the castle as well and began his trek to comfort and sustenance. He was physically and now mentally exhausted. Jaime twirled the roses about, smirking at their premise one last time before casting them off into the gardens definitely. 

“The things people do for love…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited 100+ times so not only am I proud to finally submit it but I am appreciative to all who have awaited it. I had to cut this chapter in half or you would all be reading for hours. Upside, the next update is close!
> 
> Much is about to unfold in the next chapter...brace yourself for treachery, betrayal and of course, intense sex. Wouldn’t be a GoT Fic without it, right? Happy reading!


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